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Modelled  by  Ro.e:er  Noble  Buniham. 

' THE   FERI,   OF    HER    CHEEK    AGAINST    HIS 


JUSTIN  MORGAN 

FOUNDER  OF  HIS  RACE 

THE  ROMANTIC 
HISTORY  OF  A  HORSE 

BY 

ELEANOR  WARING   BURNHAM 

(  MRS.  ROGER  NOBLE  BURNHAM  ) 
AUTHOR  OF  THE  "WHITE  PATH"  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


ILLUSTRATED 


FRONTISPIECE   BY    ROGER   NOBLE   BURNHAM 

m  0 
0 


THE  SHAKESPEARE  PRESS 

114-116  E.  28th  STREET 

NEW  YORK 

1911 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
Eleanor  W.    Burnham. 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF 
MY    FATHER. 


FOREWORD. 

The  establishment  of  an  historic  basis  for  this  Httle  ro- 
mance was  fraught  with  many  cHfficukies,  owing  to  the 
great  divergence  in  statement  and  opinions  to  be  found 
in  regard  to  the  life  and  origin  of  Justin  Morgan.  The 
author  was  obliged  to  select  from  a  mass  of  contradic- 
tory material  that  which  most  nearly  conformed  with  the 
purpose  and  continuity  of  the  story. 

Therefore,  if  any  find  the  history  not  to  his  way  of 
thinking  she  begs  him  to  realize  that  it  is,  after  all,  but 
a  detail  which  she  hopes  may  be  compensated  for  by  the 
manner  in  which  she  has  endeavored  to  bring  out  all 
those  noble  characteristics  for  which  the  Founder  of  His 
Race  was  famous. 

In  the  frontispiece,  modelled  by  Roger  Noble  Burn- 
ham,  the  portrait  of  Mistress  Lloyd  was  posed  for  by 
Miss  Fifi  Willis,  of  Columbia,  Missouri,  to  whom  the 
author  wishes  to  extend  her  thanks. 

Eleanor  Waring  Burnham, 

(Morgan  Horse  Club). 

Magnolia,  Massachusetts,  September^  igii. 


CONTENTS. 


III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 
IX. 

X. 

XL 

XII. 
XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 


CHAPTERS.  PAGE. 

I.     Early  Influences 
II.     True  Is  Broken  to  Harness 
Ceph's  Unhappy  Fate  . 
Justin  Morgan     . 
True  Meets  His  Father 
True   Gazes  Upon   Mistress  Lloyd,  of 

Maryland  ..... 

In    which    Mistress    Lloyd,   of   Mary- 
land, Gives  True  His  First  Ribband 
True  Goes  to  Found  His  Race 
True's  First  Hard  Work,  and  How  He 

Accomplished   It        ...         . 
In    which     'True'"     Becomes     "Justin 

Morgan" 

Morgan   Tries   Conclusions   with   the 

Coxcomb  and  His  Friends 
Old  Grey  Tells  Pioneer  Tales     . 
The   Morgan    Goes   to   Montpelier   to 

Live  ...... 

Morgan  Makes  a  Trip  to  Boston  . 

For  Mistress  Lloyd,  of  Maryland 

In    which   Morgan   Is  Known   as  the 

Goss   Horse 


XVII.  In  the  Flood  of  i8ii    . 

XVIII.  Under  Captain   Dulaney 

XIX.  He  Meets  His  Lady  Again 

XX.  The    Naval    Battle      . 

XXI.  Down  Hill  . 


13 

24 

32 
36 
41 

46 

51 

56 

67 

72 

77 
83 

87 

95 
103 

113 
121 
127 

138 

146 

152 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  human  side  of  horse-nature  may  have  been 
touched  upon  by  various  writers  who  have  given  us 
gHmpses  into  this  realm  of  thought,  but  it  remained 
for  the  author  of  Justin  Morgan,  Founder  of  His 
Race,  to  introduce  us  to  a  real  character,  as  an  indi- 
vidual, a  horse  of  tradition,  but  whose  lay  is  unsung. 

Almost  forgotten,  this  horse's  origin  was  wrapt  in 
obscurity  until  recently,  yet  he  became  the  sire  of  the 
most  famous  breed  of  horses  in  America. 

Only  those  who  have  lived  with  horses,  as  I  have — 
out  of  doors  and  in  my  studio — learn  to  know  them  as 
distinct  beings,  as  varied  in  their  make-up  and  devel- 
opment as  the  human  kind,  affected  by  the  same  laws 
and  influences  that  stimulate  or  smother  our  mental 
growth. 

I  dare  not  tell  all  I  know  to  be  true  about  the  intelli- 
gence and  sagacity  of  our  horse  friends,  for  fear  of 
having  my  balance  of  mind  subjected  to  doubt;  but  I 
am  quite  ready  to  believe  all  that  this  author  tells  us 
of  equine  feelings  and  faithfulness,  for  she  has  been 
prompted  to  relate  this  little  tale  of  Old  Justin  Morgan 
through  love  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  his  de- 
scendants. 

The  author's  father  was  the  first  to  introduce  the 
Morgan  horse  into  the  State  of  Georgia — in  1858 — 
when  he  purchased  the  celebrated  Enterprise,  G.G.G.G. 
son  of  Justin  Morgan.  Later  he  took  out  many  others 
— all  of  whom  made  his  stock  farm,  Annandale,  famous. 


10  INTRODUCTION 

My  own  inherited  associations  with  Vermont  brought 
me  into  relation  with  Morgan  horses  in  childhood,  when 
I  listened  to  tales  of  their  wonderful  powers  of  endur- 
ance, strength  and  intelHgence,  which  maturer  years 
have  never  made  me  doubt. 

The  early  Morgan  was  the  best  all-round,  general-pur- 
pose horse  ever  produced.  They  were  highly  valued, 
and  New  England  breeders — especially  the  Vermonters 
— kept  the  blood  pure  by  breeding  in  parallel  lines  and 
then  inbreeding,  by  which  means  they  established  a 
fixed  type  that  has  and  will  reproduce  itself  and  main- 
tain its  characteristics  for  generations. 

For  a  period  of  sixty  years  the  Vermonters  bred 
nothing  but  Morgans,  and  during  the  Civil  War  Ver- 
mont was  one  of  the  few  places  where  horses  could  be 
obtained.  They  proved  so  efficient  for  cavalry  purposes 
that  the  State  was  almost  stripped  of  them.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  best  mounted  regiments  were  on  Mor- 
gan horses. 

Their  reputation  was  such  that  after  the  war  the  West 
Point  Academy  was  furnished  with  none  but  Morgans, 
until  about  twenty-five  years  ago  the  Western  horse  has 
been  supplied  as  a  substitute,  greatly  to  the  detriment 
of  the  service. 

Following  the  depletion  made  in  1861-65  came  the 
popularity  of  the  Hambletonian  horse  to  lead  the  Ver- 
monters into  untried  experiments  of  doubtful  value.  The 
result  was  that,  by  1890,  the  pure  Morgan  horse  was 
found  to  be  the  exception,  and  the  few  breeders  who 
realized  what  had  been  lost  began  to  cherish  the  rem- 
nants of  an  almost  lost  race,  and  prizes  were  offered  for 
the  best  Morgans. 

Mr.  Joseph  Battell,  upon  whose  investigations  this 
author  has  founded  her  historic  narrative  of  the  first 
Morgan  horse,  gathered  with  infinite  pains  all  the  pedi- 


INTRODUCTION  ii 

grees  he  could  find  and  established  The  Morgan  Horse 
Register,  which  is  now  accepted  as  the  authority. 

In  1907  the  Morgan  horse-breeding  work  of  the 
United  States  Government  received  a  great  impetus 
when  Mr.  Battell  presented  to  the  Department  of  Agri- 
culture four  hundred  acres  of  fine  land  lying  two  miles 
from  Middlebury,  Vermont,  now  known  as  the  Morgan 
Horse  Farm,  and  equipped  with  farmhouse,  stables, 
barns,  etc.,  to  which  were  removed  all  the  horses  from 
the  Vermont  Agricultural  Experimental  Station,  near 
Burlington. 

The  Morgan  horse  has  always  been  noted  for  his 
longevity,  retaining  his  spirit  and  vigor  in  extreme  old 
age.  They  are  free  from  almost  every  species  of  dis- 
ease, showing  their  soundness  of  constitution.  They  ma- 
ture early,  and  are  easily  kept,  because  they  are  very 
hardy.  To-day  they  show  the  traits  of  Old  Justin 
Morgan  in  their  docility  and  symmetry  of  form,  and 
this  Founder  of  his  race,  according  to  Mr.  Battell,  was 
but  six  generations  of  English  breeding  from  the  orig- 
inal Arab  stock,  including  Byerly  Turk  and  Godolphin 
Arabian. 

The  Morgan  horse  has  quietly  won  all  the  honors  a 
grateful  people  can  bestow  upon  him,  and  we  are  glad  to 
greet  his  embodiment  of  character  in  this  form. 

H.  K.  Bush-Brown, 

(Morgan  Horse  Club). 

Washington,  D.  C. 


JUSTIN   MORGAN 


CHAPTER  I. 

EARLY  INFLUENCES. 

Once  upon  a  time — but  why  should  I  begin  this  horse- 
tale  as  if  it  were  a  mere  fairy-tale?  It  is  founded  on 
the  story  of  a  real  horse  in  a  setting  of  incidents  related 
in  the  histories  of  the  various  localities  in  which  he  lived. 
Where  possible,  history  has  been  so  closely  followed  as 
to  use  the  real  names  of  those  vigorous  pioneers  who 
helped  to  make  it. 

And  so,  upon  a  certain  time — 

In  1789,'^'  when  there  were  but  thirteen  stars  on  the 
American  flag,  and  George  Washington  was  the  newly- 
made  President,  near  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  a  colt 
was  born,  a  colt  destined  to  become  the  founder  of  the 
finest  breed  of  horses  ever  known  in  America. 

A  wide,  lush  pasture  on  the  gently-sloping  bottom 
land,  through  which  the  Connecticut  River  winds  its 
way  to  the  Sound,  was  the  scene  of  his  earliest  gamboll- 
ing. 

*  According  to  Joseph  Battell.  Encyclopedia  Britannica  says 
1793. 

13 


14  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Poised  at  a  dizzy  height,  on  wobbly,  spindly  legs, 
which  showed  little  promise  of  the  symmetry  and  beauty 
of  later  years,  he  romped  near  his  mother's  protecting 
heels  or  rested  in  her  shadow. 

His  merry,  laughing  companion  was  a  brook  which 
flowed  down  to  the  river ;  he  played  along  its  willow- 
fringed  banks,  racing  with  the  beckoning  waters  until 
out  of  breath  ;  then,  hurrying  back  to  his  mother  through 
the  gathering  dusk,  he  would  return  with  her  to  their 
pleasant  stable  in  the  barnyard  of   Silas  Whitman. 

His  developing  colt-nature  expanded,  day  by  day,  to 
the  beauties  and  interests  about  him.  He  loved  the 
twinkling  waters,  the  overhanging  trees,  the  ferns 
spiralling  among  dark-green  shadows;  the  delicate  scent 
of  violets,  peeping  between  moss-covered  stones,  de- 
lighted his  sensitive  nostrils.  He  loved  the  birds,  flutter- 
ing and  swaying  on  boughs  and  chirping  soft,  sweet 
notes.  In  response  to  all  Nature  his  small-pointed  ears 
pricked  and  quivered.  He  blew  his  warm  breath  for  fun 
on  butterflies  and  bees,  as  they  fussed  over  dew-wet  blos- 
soms, but  swerved  aside,  with  trembling  nostrils,  at  the 
strident  cry  of  a  jay,  waiting  in  the  shadow  for  his 
chance  of  a  practical  joke ! 

The  hoot  of  an  owl,  the  bark  of  a  fox,  the  crashing 
of  a  squirrel  through  the  branches  overhead,  would  make 
him  scamper  to  his  mother's  side,  panting  and  excited. 

These  were  his  baby  fears ;  his  real  and  lasting  an- 
tipathy was  to  dogs ;  the  distant  howling  of  one  seemed  to 
fill  him  with  terror ;  thunderstorms,  too,  made  him  ner- 
vous and,  so  impressible  was  he  to  these,  he  could  tell, 
two  days  in  advance,  that  one  was  coming;  only  much 
urging  could  prevail  upon  him  to  leave  the  security  of 
his   stable  when  he  felt  the  approach  of  one. 

Gradually  his  mother  taught  him  all  that  one  good, 
faithful  horse  can  teach  another,  not  to  show   fear,  not 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  15 

to  shy,  not  to  kick  and  never  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 
He  was  happy  and  care-free  then,  for  he  did  not  have 
to  wear  hard  straps,  called  harness,  nor  draw  heavy 
loads,  nor  wear  iron  shoes ;  and  his  bare,  sensitive  hoofs 
soon  learned  to  tell  the  difference  between  safe  and  dan- 
gerous ground.  His  sense  of  smell  was  singularly  acute 
and  standing  close  to  his  mother's  side — that  she  might 
better  brush  the  flies  from  both,  with  her  long,  useful 
tail — he  learned  to  distinguish  poisonous  from  whole- 
some weeds. 

Master  Whitman  called  him  True  Briton,  2d,  for  his 
celebrated  father,  True  Briton,  but  the  double  name  was 
soon  shortened  to  the  very  appropriate  one  of  "True." 
And,  for  convenience,  we  shall  speak  of  his  mother  as 
Gipsey. 

Gipsey  was  one  of  those  mothers,  unknown  to  his- 
tory, but  to  whose  early  influence  her  son  possibly  owed 
much  of  his  success  in  later  life.  Sometimes  it  was  nec- 
essary for  her  to  reprove  him;  she  nipped  him  sharply, 
if  he  were  playful  at  the  wrong  time,  or  kicked  too 
strongly  in  fun ;  but  she  never  had  to  admonish  him 
twice  about  anything  on  account  of  his  remarkable  mem- 
ory. 

One  day.  when  she  had  to  correct  him,  and  was  con- 
scious of  having  lost  her  temper,  she  neighed  apolo- 
getically. 

"Alas,  my  son,  I  am  no  better  than  a  woman !" 

This  was  unjust,  as  True  discovered  later,  for  some 
of  the  strongest  friendships  of  his  life  were  for  women; 
he  found  them  ever  generous  with  maple  sugar  and  the 
goodies  for  which  he  quickly  learned  to  whinney  at  their 
kitchen  windows.  They  were  more  appreciative,  too, 
and  did  not  expect  him  to  perform  miracles,  as  men  did 
who  set  him  tasks  that  taxed  every  nerve  and  muscle. 

Early  each  morning  Silas  Whitman  came  to  the  barn- 


i6     ■  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

yard  to  play  with  and  train  the  colt,  and  from  the  be- 
ginning the  little  creature  showed  marvellous  character- 
istics. 

Never  did  True  forget  his  first  sight  of  Man!  At 
that  time — being  quite  new-come  into  the  world — he  did 
not  know  the  ways  of  different  animals,  and  thought 
Master  Whitman  very  curious  as  he  walked  about  on  his 
hind  legs  !  The  small  colt  wondered  if  he  would  have 
to  do  the  same  when  he  grew  older  and  his  spindly  legs 
grew^  stronger.  He  did  not  fear  the  friendly  man-crea- 
ture who  played  so  gently, — little  by  little  training  him 
to  obey  and  afterwards  rewarding  him  with  a  bit  of 
maple  sugar.  A  kind  word  and  a  pat  was  always  given 
to  Gipsey,  too,  and  mother  and  son  very  soon  began  to 
watch  for  their  master's  coming,  giving  him  welcome, 
with  little  whinneys,  and  throaty  neighs,  when  they 
heard  his  cheery  whistle. 

When  True's  third  molar  came  he  had  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  halter.  Later  in  life  he  came  to  see 
that  the  conveniences  of  a  halter  cannot  be  taught  too 
early.  He  found  out  uses  for  his,  all  by  himself;  one 
was  that  he  could  manage  to  throw  the  rein  over  hay 
that  was  too  high  in  the  rack  to  reach  comfortably,  and 
thus  pull  it  down  to  an  easy  height.  His  mother  thought 
this  very  ingenious  and  praised  him,  which  pleased  the 
little  fellow  very  much. 

When  the  first  molar  of  his  permanent  teeth  came  he 
had  been  taught  all  about  a  bridle  and  bit — things  he 
never  liked  but  made  the  best  of,  as  Gipsey  told  them 
they  were  inevitable. 

When  there  were  errands  in  the  village  Silas  would 
hitch  Gipsey  up  to  the  ''shay''  and  allow  True  to  trot 
alongside  for  exercise  and  experience.  He  enjoyed 
these  little  jaunts  under  the  giant  elms  that  bordered  the 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  17 

street,  carpeted  with  a  patchwork  of  sifting  sunshine  and 
cool  shadow. 

Over  garden  fences  he  could  see  green,  succulent  box- 
hedges  and  one  day,  when  he  found  a  gate  open,  he 
trotted  boldly  in  to  get  a  taste ! 

Scarcely  had  be  begun  to  nibble  when  a  dog  dashed 
round  the  corner  of  the  house,  a  boy  at  his  heels.  When 
the  latter  caught  sight  of  the  intruder  he  gave  a  whoop 
and  urged  the  dog  to  nip  at  True's  feet.  The  colt, 
startled,  made  a  quick  movement  of  self-protection  with 
his  hard  little  heels  and  struck  the  dog  on  the  head,  ef- 
fectually silencing  his  bark  and  rolling  him  over  in  the 
dirt. 

A  rock  hit  the  colt's  side,  but  he  did  not  tarry ;  ex- 
citedly, he  plunged  out  of  the  open  gate  and  raced  down 
the  road  after  his  mother,  now  full  half  mile  away.  The 
odor  of  box  was  ever  after  associated,  disagreeably, 
with  boys  and  dogs  in  his  mind. 

When  he  related  the  incident  to  his  friend,  Caesar, 
the  yellow  stable  cat,  the  latter  purred  conviction  and 
confided  that  for  untold  generations  dogs  had  been  the 
sworn  enemies  of  his  family. 

'Tt  may^  be  possible  for  a  boy,  occasionally,  to  be  po- 
lite and  gentle ;  I  do  not  know,"  mewed  the  cat.  ''But  as 
for  dogs !  Well,  you  must  unsheath  your  claws  and  arch 
your  back  on  sight!" 

Caesar  was  an  independent  cat  of  wide  experience  and 
had  travelled  and  lived  in  many  barns ;  his  opinion, 
therefore,  had  weight  with  True.  One  day,  whilst  rub- 
bing against  the  colt's  leg,  in  his  affectionate  way,  he 
remarked  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  Gipsey  and  True 
he  would  long  since  have  returned  to  his  last  barn-home, 
where  the  mice  had  a  sweeter  flavor  on  account  of  a 
careless  housewife  who  often  left  her  cheese-box  open. 

"Besides,"  he  added,  strutting  about  and  waving  his 


i8  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

tail  with  careless  dignity,  "there  is  a  very  nice  tortoise- 
shell  pussy  waiting  there  for  me !" 

"But,  do  you  know  the  way  back?"  asked  True,  in- 
terested and  not  failing  to  admire,  and  be  duly  im- 
pressed, by  Caesar's  swagger  and  importance. 

'T  know  the  way  back  well  enough,"  the  cat  bragged ; 
but  added  with  disgust,  'Tn  very  truth,  the  jade  who 
put  me  in  the  bag  forgot  to  shake  the  dust  out  of  it; 
but  such  a  trifle  could  not  blind  meT 

A  very  happy  playground  was  the  Whitman  barn- 
yard. Beside  the  horses  there  were  two  little  red-and- 
white  calves  who  romped  in  a  way  that  entertained  but 
almost  drove  Caesar  crazy.  Before  them  he  would  flee, 
round  and  round,  instead  of  getting  out  of  their  way  at 
once! 

A  curly-tailed,  twinkling-eyed  pig,  very  fat  and  funny, 
shared  their  life  for  a  time ;  but  one  day  he  disappeared, 
noisily,  and  never  returned. 

In  those  days  the  memory  of  the  British  was  fresh 
in  the  minds  of  all ;  the  War  of  the  Revolution  had  been 
over  but  a  short  eight  years  and  the  name  "Red-Coat" 
still  had  an  ominous  sound.  Gipsey,  being  an  Ameri- 
can mother,  taught  her  son  to  hate  the  British  and  told 
him  war-tales  that  made  him  quiver  with  patriotism. 

One  day  the  colt  invented  a  game  which  he  called 
"Chasing  the  Red-Coat,"  and  fine  fun  it  was,  to  be  sure ! 
With  one  accord  the  calves  and  True  made  Caesar  the 
"Red-Coat"  because  he  was  such  a  fleet  runner !  That 
Caesar  did  not  think  much  of  the  game  was  obvious  as 
he  dashed  wildly  at  a  tree  and  running  up  its  trunk  sat 
spluttering  at  them,  his  fur  on  end,  his  tail  straight  in 
the  air. 

Being  interrupted  by  Silas, — for  daily  exercise  and 
practise  in  the  arts  of  being  bitted  and  led  about — never 
annoyed  the  colt.    The  calves  and  Caesar  watched  these 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  19 

performances,  furtively,  and  wondered  when  their  turns 
would  come;  True  always  told  them  the  fun  he  had  and 
took  care  to  mention  the  subsequent  reward  of  maple 
sugar. 

For  a  short  time  a  gentle  pigeon  came  and  sat  be- 
tween the  young  horse's  ears  and  cooed,  softly,  whilst 
he  munched  at  his  manger.  This  was  agreeable  to  the 
sociable  colt,  but  he  was  puzzled  to  notice  that  the  bird 
did  not  like  his  other  friend,  the  cat.  True  could  see 
how  tactfully  Caesar  tried  to  win  the  affections  of  the 
pigeon,  even  reaching  out  a  paw  to  pat  him  sometimes. 

One  day  his  feathered  friend  did  not  come  to  the 
stable  at  the  usual  time  and  when  the  cat  sauntered  in 
that  afternoon,  with  a  look  of  keen  content  on  his  face, 
and  a  feather  in  his  whiskers,  True  asked  if  he  had  seen 
the  pigeon. 

Caesar  had  not,  of  course ! 

He  added,  however,  as  he  placidly  washed  the  feather 
from  his  face,'  that  "birds  often  flew  away  and  did  not 
return !"  His  expression  was  so  sincere  and  sympathe- 
tic that  the  colt  was  no  little  comforted. 

In  spite  of  this  treachery,  Caesar  was  really  fond  of 
True,  and  brought  him,  from  time  to  time,  tokens  of 
his  affection  in  the  way  of  delicacies — rats  and  mice  he 
had  caught  in  his  stealthy  rounds — sometimes  a  chick- 
en's foot  or  a  fish's  head  from  the  kitchen.  It  was  difli- 
cult  for  True  to  refuse  these  cat-dainties  without  hurt- 
ing Caesar's  feelings,  until  he  hit  upon  the  clever  ex- 
pedient of  pulling  out  a  mouthful  of  delicious  fodder 
from  his  rack  and  offering  it^  in  his  turn  to  the  cat ! 

One  day  the  colt  boasted  to  the  cat  that  he  ''could 
see  in  the  dark." 

Caesar  purred,  contemptuously,  washing  his  face  the 
while. 

"That,  my  friend,"  he  said,  ''is  a  mere  trifle,  hardlv 


20  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

worth  bragging-  about !  Now,  if  you  could  but  speak 
the  human  language,  then,  indeed,  would  I  wave  my  tail 
and  meow,  'Hail,  Master !'  " 

True  was  abashed,  but  said : 

"Nay,  my  mother  says  speech  is  but  a  vain  and  doubt- 
ful  good,  especially  in  women!" 

To  this  sally  the  cat  had  no  reply,  both  he  and  Gipsey 
had  known   women  better  than  the  yearling  True. 

One  day  Silas  brought  a  black  lamb  to  the  pasture, 
who  at  once  made  friends  with  the  colt.  The  two 
romped  and  played  together,  much  as  human  children 
might.  For  the  timid  little  creature  True  came  to  have 
a  deep  attachment ;  he  liked  the  feel  of  the  warm  Httle 
body  against  his  leg.  No  doubt  they  exchanged  ideas 
about  things  of  interest  as  they  listened  to  the  brook, 
singing  happily  of  woods  and  meadows  through  which 
it  had  run  on  its  way  to  the  river. 

This  sweet  friendship  lasted  many  days,  but  it  was 
destined  to  end  in  a  tragedy — one  that  must  be  related 
as  it  bore  so  directly  upon  the  sudden  awakening  of  some 
of  the  traits  in  the  colt's  character. 

On  the  edge  of  a  near-by  forest  there  was  a  rude  hut 
in  which  dwelt  a  family  of  outlaws  who  lived  on  their 
neighbors  and  left  honest  dealing  to  others.  Round 
about  the  countryside  it  was  whispered  they  were 
"Tories,"  and  Gipsey  told  True  the  evil  odor  borne  on 
the  breeze  from  that  direction  was  sufficient  assurance 
that  this  was  so ;  the  outlaws  were,  indeed,  British,  and 
the  wildest  crew  that  ever  stole  a  horse  or  fired  a  hay- 
stack ! 

One  day,  as  True  stood  wrapt  in  thought  beside  the 
stream,  admiring  the  courage  that  made  it  sing  as  hap- 
pily in  sunshine  as  in  shadow,  on  dark  days  as  on  bright, 
Black  Baby,  as  the  lamb  was  called,  came  from  the 
other  side   of  the  pasture  and   rubbed  against  his   leg. 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  21 

Seeing  in  a  moment  that  the  colt  was  preoccupied,  the 
lamb  whisked  away  to  wait  for  the  usual  whinney  of  in- 
vitation. 

The  Tory  hut  showed  clear  in  the  morning  sunlight 
and,  absently,  a  moment  later  the  colt  glanced  that  way. 
To  his  astonishment  he  saw  the  youngest  boy,  a  ne'er- 
do-well  who  had  stolen  pumpkins  and  apples  from  his 
neighbors  all  his  life,  unloose  a  lean,  gaunt  dog  and 
start  towards  the  pasture. 

This  young  fiend  was,  oddly  enough,  named  William 
Howe,  quite  enough  in  itself  to  set  an  American  by 
the  ears !  True  recalled  in  a  flash  all  his  mother  had 
told  him  of  the  British  General  of  the  same  name.* 

"How,  now,"  he  thought,  "why  comes  the  young  rob- 
ber this  way?" 

Black  Baby  continued  to  frisk  about,  trying  to  divert 
True  from  his  serious  mood.  He  sprang  into  the  air  and 
tossed  his  little  head,  cutting  all  manner  of  capers,  but 
the  colt  did  not  seem  inclined  to  join  him  in  play. 

William  Howe  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  stone  fence 
and,  balancing  himself  adroitly,  gazed  around  as  if  to 
locate  any  possible  mischief. 

The  dog  sprang  nimbly  over  and,  yelping,  ran  after 
an  innocent  rabbit  that  bounded  across  the  pasture  like 
an  India  rubber  ball,  his  short  pennant  making  an  al- 
most unbroken  line  of  white  over  the  green  grass  as  he 
fled  before  his  enemy.  Luckily  he  reached  the  opposite 
fence  in  time  and  darted  behind  the  protecting  stones ; 
baffled,  the  dog  stood  barking,  furiously. 

Soon  the  boy  put  his  fingers  in  his  lips  and  whistled, 
shrilly. 

Time  and  again  True  had  warned  Black  Baby  of  this 
very   dog,   but  the  lamb,  having   known   only  love  and 

*  In  1776,  Sir  William  Howe  commanded  an  army  of  55,000 
men  in  an  effort  to  put  down  "the  wicked  rebellion." 


2.2  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

kindness  all  his  little  life,  forgot,  and  frolicked  gaily  to- 
wards him ! 

William  Howe  cried  out  in  delight,  *'Sick  him,  Corn- 
wallis !" 

The  cosset  lamb  stood  an  easy  mark  for  the  dog  and 
in  an  instant  lay  gasping  on  the  ground,  the  blood  flow- 
ing from  a  horrid  wound  in  his  throat.  His  sobbing 
breath  found  an  echo  in  True's  heart  and  for  the  first 
time  the  colt  lost  control  of  himself. 

Overcome  with  a  thirst  for  vengeance,  and,  screaming 
as  only  a  horse  does  when  the  strait  is  desperate,  he 
plunged  and  reared.  With  a  well-aimed  blow  of  his  hard, 
very  dark,  front-feet  he  knocked  the  dog  senseless. 

This  did  not  satisfy  the  lamb's  champion ;  he  stamped 
the  body  of  the  wicked  beast  into  the  earth,  crushing 
bones  as  if  they  had  been  straws !  Furiously  he  bit,  and 
finally  caught  the  limp  carcass  in  his  strong  teeth  and 
threw  it  high  in  the  air.  For  the  moment  he  was  a 
demon  and  sought,  savagely,  for  more  ways  to  wipe 
the  remains  out  of  existence ! 

Suddenly  he  remembered  William  Howe  who  stood  at 
a  distance,  pelting  him  with  stones.  Uttering  another 
fierce  cry  he  turned  upon  the  boy,  baring  his  teeth 
hideously  between  his  firm  lips. 

Howe  made  for  the  fence,  where  the  desperate  rabbit 
had  sought  cover,  and  scrambled  over,  thinking  to  be 
safe  on  the  other  side ;  he  did  not  know  the  colt  was 
descended  from  the  "birds  of  the  desert!" 

True  was  not  even  aware  of  a  barrier!  As  if  he  had 
wings  he  soared  over  it,  doubling  his  hind-feet  close 
under  his  body  a  little  to  one  side. 

A  tree  was  all  that  saved  the  boy's  life.  Swinging  up 
bv  a  low-hanging  branch,  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  he 
found  himself  out  of  breath  and  out  of  reach  of  the 
colt's   gleaming  teeth.     From  wide,   scarlet  nostrils   the 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  23 

hot  and  excited  breath  of  the  maddened  animal  reached 
his  bare  feet. 

The  Tory  scent  that  came  down  to  True  only  in- 
creased his  anger,  but  not  being  able  to  reach  the  boy, 
he  resolved  that  the  kicking  he  owed  him  could  be  post- 
poned— for  years,  if  necessary — but  some  day,  some  day, 
it  would  be  delivered !  Furthermore — he  would  kick 
nothing  until  that  day  arrived  and  he  met  this  boy  again 
on  level  ground ! 

How  he  kept  his  vow  we  shall  see  later. 


24  JUSTIN    MORGAN 


CHAPTER  11. 

TRUE   IS   BROKEN    TO   HARNESS. 

Even,  pleasant  and  cheerful  was  True's  natural  dis- 
position, but  besides  these  traits  there  were  others  that 
went  to  make  up  the  peculiar  perfection  horse-flesh  had 
attained  in  the  twenty-five  years  before  his  birth. 

A  courage,  vitality,  and  zest  seemed  to  be  in  the  very 
air  of  the  world  at  that  period  of  horse  history,  and  the 
blend — through  his  father — of  Arabian,  Barb  and  Turk 
had  produced  in  him  the  most  ideal  of  horse  characters. 

That  Southern  strain  was,  no  doubt,  stimulated  by 
the  clear,  bracing  climate  of  New  England,  and  the  com- 
bination of  circumstances  which  developed  his  muscles 
and  expanded  his  chest,  made  him  the  fit  founder  of  a 
race. 

About  the  year  he  was  born  Eclipse,  his  kins-horse, 
died. 

Eclipse  was  that  four-footed  bird  ''behind  whom  the 
whirlwind  toiled  in  vain"  and  who,  in  his  greatest  race, 
"beat  the  other  horse  by  two  hundred  yards,  without 
urging  !"* 

Since  then  men  have  said  that  Eclipse  ran  "a  mile  a 
minute,"  but  Gipsey  told  her  son  dififerently;  she  knew 
horses  only  ran  against  each  other,  not  against  time. 

She  also  told  the  colt  the  part  his  family  had  played 
in  the  late  War,  and  how  General  Washington,  himself, 
had  ridden  one  of  them  at  Trenton ;  but  she  was  obliged 

*  Eclipse  and  O'Kelly,  page  88 ;  Theodore  Andrea  Cook,  M.  A., 
F.  S.  A. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  25 

to  confess,  with  a  droop  of  her  spirited  tail,  that  his 
father,  True  Briton  had,  in  his  youth,  served  a  British 
officer. 

So  graphic  were  some  of  these  war-tales  that  the  young 
horse  quivered,  and  almost  imagined  he  heard  the  crack 
of  muskets  and  smelt  the  smoke  of  battle !  He  dreamed 
longingly  of  a  time  when  he,  too,  might  serve  his  coun- 
try under  the  saddle  of  some  brave  soldier,  and  his  nos- 
trils grew  wide  and  his  eyes  fiery  at  the  hope  which 
was  so  long  afterwards  to  be  realized. 

Had  she  been  a  woman,  and  men  had  seen  the  work- 
ings of  her  mind  as  she  instructed  her  son,  Gipsey  might 
have  been  called  a  witch  and  as  such  been  burned.  With 
pointing  ears  and  ember-like  eyes  she  neighed  softly  to 
him  of  the  Desert ;  she  seemed  to  hear  its  call ;  to  see  its 
trackless  wastes,  and  afar,  at  its  limits,  she  told  him 
groves  of  olive  and  date,  and  pools  of  clear,  cool  water 
lay. 

One  day,  with  that  far-off  look  in  her  eyes,  she  said  to 
him,   prophetically : 

''When  other  horses,  now  famous,  are  forgotten,  my 
son,  your  memory  will  live  on,  your  influence  will  still 
be  felt.  Men  will  still  love  you  and  you  will  be  praised 
and  revered  by  all  who  have  knowledge  of  excellence  in 
horse-flesh.  A  state  will  be  noted  for  its  horses,  and 
Allah  has  chosen  you  to  be  the  first  of  this  line." 

She  told  him  to  be  ever  brave,  gentle,  and  loving; 
obedient  to  his  master,  Man;  not  to  falter,  not  to  turn 
back  never  mind  the  cost. 

She  told  him  how  to  anticipate  a  command,  that  he 
might  obey,  instantly,  and  he  afterwards  became  so  pro- 
ficient in  this  sense  that  when  he  came  to  be  trained  to 
harness  he  -obeyed  Silas  Whitman's  every  gesture,  as  if 
instinctivelv,   often  before   the  words  themselves   came. 


26  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

In  later  life,  becoming  more  experienced,  he  often  took 
the  initiative  in  times  of  danger  or  peril.* 

When  True  was  a  little  over  a  year  old  j\Iaster  Whit- 
man brought  a  piebald  horse  to  live  in  their  stable.  Poor 
old  Ceph  was  of  low  birth  and  very  stupid. 

'Tn  the  Desert,"  Gipsey  told  him,  "the  Arabs  say,  'if 
piebald,  flee  him  as  the  pestilence,  for  he  is  own  brother 
to  a  cow' !" 

Ceph  turned  out  to  be  a  "stump-sucker"  or  "piper," 
and  the  grunts  and  groans  accompanying  his  gnawing 
disturbed  the  other  two  horses  intensely.  At  last  when 
he  began  on  the  partition  between  his  stall  and  True's 
it  was  too  much  for  the  colt  to  bear  in.  silence  and  pa- 
tience. He  determined  to  cure  him  in  some  way,  though 
at  first  he  did  not  see  how  it  was  to  be  done. 

One  day,  however,  a  bit  of  chain  was  left  hanging 
on  his  manger  and,  when  he  pushed  it  with  his  nose,  it 
made  a  jangling  noise.  Ceph,  always  curious,  stopped 
his  "cribbing"  long  enough  to  listen,  dully,  with  his  flap- 
ping ears,  and  to  wonder  what  it  was. 

After  a  short  time  True  found,  to  his  surprise  and 
satisfaction,  that  he  could  lift  the  chain  with  his  teeth 
and,  as  he  was  now  tall  enough  for  his  chin  to  reach 

*  In  1891  President  Benj.  Harrison  attended  a  meeting  of 
The  Association  of  Road  and  Trotting  Horse  Breeders,  at  White 
River  Junction,  Vermont.  In  the  course  of  his  remarks  on  that 
occasion  he  said :  'T  understand  that  it  was  so  arranged  that 
after  I  had  seen  the  flower  of  manhood  and  womanhood  in  Ver- 
mont I  should  be  given  an  exhibition  of  the  next  grade  in  intelli- 
gence and  worth  in  the  State — your  good  horses.  I  had,  recently, 
through  the  intervention  of  my  Secretary  of  War,  the  privilege 
of  coming  into  possession  of  a  pair  of  Vermont  horses.  They  are 
all  I  could  wish  for,  and,  as  I  said  the  other  day  at  the  little 
village  from  which  they  came,  they  are  of  good  Morgan  stock, 
of  which  some  one  has  said,  'their  greatest  characteristic  is  that 
they  enter  into  consultation  with  the  driver,  or  rider,  whenever 
there  is  a  difficulty.' " — The  Morgan  Horse,  page  27,  Joseph 
Batfell. 


FOUXDER    OF    HIS    RACE  27 

the  top  of  the  partition,  it  occurred  to  him  he  could  use 
the  bit  of  iron  to  very  good  advantage. 

He  laid  his  plans  accordingly  and  bade  Caesar  be  on 
hand  to  see  the  fun. 

About  midnight  Ceph  began  to  gnaw. 

Quick  as  wink  True  had  the  chain  in  his  teeth  and 
over  the  wall  it  went — crack — right  between  Ceph's 
floppy  ears  ! 

Such  amazement  there  never  was  in  any  dull  horse's 
quiet,  stupid  mind !  He  squealed  and  sprang  one  side, 
startled  into  anger  and  affright.  But  when  he  recovered 
himself  all  was  still :  no  suspicious  noises  came  from  his 
neighbor's  stall. 

Caesar  had  been  standing  on  his  hind  legs,  peeping 
through  a  hole  in  the  partition  and  at  sight  of  Ceph's 
bewilderment,  he  rolled  over  in  a  paroxysm  of  mirth,  as 
if  he  did  not  have  a  bone  in  his  body,  while  True  stood 
motionless,  guarding  their  secret. 

Presently,  very  cautiously.  Ceph  began  to  gnaw  again 
on  the  wood  of  his  manger. 

In  his  haste  to  give  another  lick.  True  nearly  stepped 
on  the  prostrate  cat,  but.  holding  his  foot  poised  a  mo- 
ment, Caesar  sprang  lightly  from  under  it  just  as  a 
mighty  swing  took  the  chain  over  the  barrier. 

Ceph  threw  his  head  into  the  air,  indignantly,  but  his 
suspicions  were  unconfirmed  the  silence  next  door  was 
so  intense ;  then,  to  add  to  his  perplexity,  he  heard  Gip- 
sey  wake  with  a  groan  and  a  stamp. 

"Will  we  never  get  any  rest!"  she  neighed,  hope- 
lessly. 

True  whinneyed  softly,  over  her  side  of  his  stable,  to 
be  of  good  cheer,  the  worst  was  over.  And  afterwards 
the  least  sound  from  Ceph  brought  a  rattling  of  the 
mysterious  chain  which  had  struck  him  so  hard  on  the 
head. 


28  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

For  a  few  nights  this  went  on,  but  finally  success 
crowned  the  colt's  efforts  and  much  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all,  Silas  included,  Ceph  stopped  gnawing. 

This  was  not  the  only  time  True  showed  ingenuity. 
He  learned  many  useful  though  not  mischievous  tricks 
all  by  himself,  but  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Silas 
thought  as  much  of  them  as  Gipsey.  The  colt  discov- 
ered how  to  open  all  the  gates,  but,  as  he  never  thought 
to  close  them,  their  barn-companions  wandered  out  and 
never  returned  without  being  sent  for  though  the  horses 
always  came  home  in  good  temper  after  their  wander- 
ings in  time  for  the  evening  meal.  At  last  locks  and 
keys  were  put  on  everything,  and  this  was  the  first  in- 
timation True  had  that  his  pleasant  little  accomplish- 
ment was  not  appreciated  by  his  master.  As  he  grew 
older  he  eliminated  the  unpopular  trick  from  his  list. 

One  day,  being  thirsty,  he  began  to  consider  how  he 
could  open  the  rain  barrel,  in  which  Mistress  Whitman 
caught  water  for  her  washing.  He  tried  hard  to  push 
the  cover  one  side,  but  some  clever  human  contrivance 
made  it  catch,  and  so,  after  trying  several  other  ways, 
he  found  the  simple  and  right  one  of  catching  the  han- 
dle in  his  strong  young  teeth  and  lifting  straight  up- 
ward ! 

Sometimes  when  he  had  done  this  and  drunk  all  the 
water  he  wanted,  he  would  pick  the  cat  up  by  the  scruff 
of  the  neck  with  his  teeth  and  hold  him  over  the  barrel, 
meowing  desperately,  for  of  all  thing's  Caesar  hated 
water !  True  was  only  teasing  him,  but  the  cat  never 
knew  that,  and  a  spasm  of  terror  would  chill  his  mar- 
row at  thought  of  being  dropped  in. 

The  death  of  Black  Baby  made  True  more  serious  and 
earnest.  He  went  about  his  daily  tasks  with  interest 
and  spirit,  but  he  did  not  romp  so  much  and  listened 
more  attentively  to  his  mother's  teachings. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  29 

One  day  he  found  himself  hitched  up  in  harness  with 
old  Piebald,  Ceph.  Silas  had  thought  Gipsey  too  spirited 
to  begin  him  with,  but  True  walked  so  fast,  and — though 
very  unsteadily  at  first — trotted  so  much  faster  than  his 
mate  that  the  next  day  he  was  taken  out  with  his  mother. 

From  her  he  had  learned  the  Royal  Road  to  Happi- 
ness and  Success :  ''Obedience  first,  last,  and  all  the 
time !" 

It  was,  indeed,  a  proud  day  for  the  colt. 

Easy  it  was  for  a  horse  to  obey  Silas  Whitman,  he 
was  so  careful  to  explain,  and  to  be  sure  they  under- 
stood; he  never  let  them  get  fretted  trying  to  find  out 
what  he  wanted  by  themselves. 

x\s  soon  as  True  found  he  was  not  expected  to  run  or 
gallop  in  harness,  he  settled  down  to  walking  or  trotting 
in  his  nervous  brisk  way,  and  soon  the  gaits  of  mother 
and  son  were  evenly  matched. 

As  time  increased  True  became  more  and  more  lov- 
able and  people  came  for  miles  to  see  him ;  some  even 
wanted  to  buy  him  and  offered  as  much  as  twenty-five 
dollars.  But  Silas  refused  all  offers  for  his  pet.  Very 
soon  he  was  hitched  to  the  "shay"  alone.  He  stepped 
out  bravely  enough  feeling  the  friendly  hand  of  his  mas- 
ter to  advise  and  guide  him.  Then  again  he  had  a  turn 
under  the  saddle ;  this  was  freer  for  there  were  not  so 
many  rules  to  remember! 

When  they  went  on  trips  of  the  latter  kind,  Silas, 
who  was  a  very  well-informed  man,  talked  to  him  and 
told  him  many  interesting  things  and  gave  him  much 
instruction.  Sometimes,  on  their,  way  home  over  open 
fields,  grassy  knolls  and  wooded  hillsides,  Silas  would 
take  the  wrong  turning  and  leave  True  to  find  out  the 
right  way  by  himself.  That  strange  sense  of  direction 
in  horses  was  singularly  acute  in  True  and  they  invari- 


30  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

ably  reached  home  safely,  the  horse  enjoying  this  con- 
fidence of  his  rider. 

One  sunny  day  when  the  little  horse  was  nearly  two 
years  old,  they  were  returning  from  a  trip  up  the  river 
when  Silas  swooned,  it  was  a  sickness  to  which  he  was 
subject,  and,  slipping  from  the  saddle  to  the  road,  he 
rolled  into  the  ditch.  True,  no  little  disturbed,  stood 
thoughtful  a  moment,  wondering  what  he  could  do  for 
his  unconscious  friend.  Finally  he  caught  hold  of  the 
Continental  collar  with  his  teeth  and  drew  him  gently 
up  on  the  grassy  border  of  the  road,  under  the  shade  of 
an  oak.  Looking  around  he  whinneyed  for  help,  but, 
as  no  answer  came,  he  turned  and  galloped  homeward, 
nor  did  he  go  by  the  longer  way  of  the  road.  Over 
rough,  uneven,  cleared  spaces,  he  went;  stone  fences 
stretched  across  his  way ;  here  and  there  strips  of  dense 
woods  interfered  with  but  did  not  retard  his  speed  or 
intention. 

When  he  neared  the  house  a  curl  of  blue  smoke  told 
him  where  he  would  find  Mistress  Whitman,  nor  was  he 
mistaken.  He  trotted  straight  to  the  kitchen  window 
at  which  he  was  wont  to  receive  goodies  from  her  gen- 
erous hands ;  there  she  stood,  slender  and  womanish,  be- 
side a  pot  of  soup,  hanging  on  the  crane,  whose  warm 
fragrance  permeated  the  air. 

True  whinneyed  sharply.  She  looked  up,  and,  see- 
ing the  empty  saddle,  started  with  anxiety  and  hastened 
out.  The  horse  rubbed  his  nose  on  her  sleeve  and 
neighed  his  message,  softly. 

She  seemed  to  understand  the  horse-language  at  once 
and,  leading  him  to  the  horse-block,  climbed  into  the  sad- 
dle without  delay. 

And  this  was  True's  first  experience  of  carrying  a 
lady!  She  was  so  light  of  weight,  and  she  spoke  to 
him  so  fearlessly,  that  he  drew  much  comfort  through 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  31 

his  bridle-rein.  He  started  off  at  an  even  canter  not 
hesitating  at  his  stable  door,  though  it  must  have  been 
hard  to  pass  the  appetizing  sound  of  Gipsey  and  Ceph 
munching  at  their  supper. 

This  time  he  took  the  road,  in  a  long  smooth  gait, 
and  after  a  short  time  reached  the  strip  of  woods  where 
Silas  had  been  left. 

Master  Whitman,  thin  and  very  bright  of  eye,  was 
sitting  up  now,  and  seemed  much  better,  so  his  good 
wife  aided  him  to  mount  the  horse  and  climbed  up  be- 
hind him;  thus  they  set  out  toward  home,  and  True  had 
his  first  experience  of  ''carrying  double." 

What  a  supper  the  ''pony"  had  that  night ! 

Oats,  dry  as  pease,  corn  and  carrots,  a  little  flaxseed 
jelly,  and  chopped  hay  springled  with  salt. 

'Twas  a  supper  fit  for  Eclipse,  himself! 


32  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

CHAPTER  III. 
ceph's  unhappy  fate. 

Never  had  Ceph  been  treated  kindly  by  anyone ;  he'd 
never  had  ''half  a  chance  in  life,"  as  Gipsey  said.  No- 
body ever  praised  him,  everybody  blamed  him,  and  he 
had  nothing  but  blows  and  hard  words  for  his  portion. 
Even  his  food,  which  always  came  irregularly,  had  to 
be  gobbled,  for  fear  time  enough  to  eat  it  comfortably 
would  not  be  given  him  !  Nobody  ever  rubbed  him  down 
when  he  was  hot  and  tired,  and  his  work  was  harder  and 
more  exacting  that  that  of  the  other  two. 

For  the  most  part  he  took  it  philosophically,  with  only 
an  occasional  groan  until,  perhaps,  he  saw  better  food 
measured  out  for  his  neighbors  than  was  measured  out 
for  him,  then  he  stamped  and  grunted  and  sometimes  bit 
at  them,  crossly. 

For  many  years  he  had  been  subject  to  spavin,  at  times 
his  hock  swelled  badly  and  he  went  lame  and  limped 
painfully.  At  last  Silas  could  close  his  eyes  no  longer 
to  the  fact  that  unless  something  were  done  for  the  old 
horse  he  would  become  entirely  useless. 

In  Springfield  a  horse  doctor  lived  who  knew,  among 
other  things,  how  to  ''fire"  a  spavined  hock.  True  had 
once  seen  this  man  thrust  a  sharp  knife  into  a  horse's 
mouth  who  had  lampers ;  the  flow  of  warm  red  blood  had 
made  the  colt  shudder  and,  remembering  this,  he  was 
very  sorry  when  he  found  out  this  cruel  person  was  to 
visit  Ceph. 

Gipsey   recalled  that  this  Dr.  Quack  had   once  been 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  33 

vSent  for  to  see  a  neighbor's  suffering  cow ;  he  arrived, 
looking  wise  and  solemn,  and  declared  the  cow  had  a 
disease  called  "hollow-horn."  He  thereupon  split  her 
tail  lengthwise  and  filled  the  raw  opening  with  salt  and 
pepper.* 

The  poor  cow  died,  and  none  but  her  barn-mates  knew 
the  distressing  fact  that  she  had  really  died  of  "hollow 
stomach,"  not  "hollow  horn,"  because  their  owner  was  so 
cruelly  economical  with  food ! 

It  was  with  no  little  sorrow  that  True  recognized  the 
coarse,  rasping  voice  of  the  "doctor"  when  he  came  to 
see  Ceph  late  one  evening. 

Through  a  crack  in  their  darkening  stalls  True  espied 
the  red-hot  crow-bar,  and  the  guttering  tallow  dip  Silas 
had  lighted  and  brought  from  the  kitchen. 

Piebald  Ceph  had  always  been  a  mild-tempered  horse, 
but  scarce  had  the  firing-iron  touched  his  hock  than  he 
sent  it — and  the  candle — flying  into  the  hayloft,  with  an 
unexpected  and  well-directed  kick. 

Before  a  horse  could  have  whinneyed  the  place  was  in 
flames,  the  dry  hay  dropping  in  blazing  bunches  from 
overhead. 

A  diabolic  scene  followed ! 

Seconds  passed  like  hours. 

True  jerked  his  halter  loose  in  terror,  snapping  the 
rope  sharply ;  his  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat,  he  was  so 
frightened.  Gipsey,  locked  in  her  stall,  uttered  a  scream, 
as  horses  sometimes  do  when  overcome  with  fear:  old 
Ceph,  crowding  into  the  extreme  corner  of  his  stable, 
groaned  pitifully. 

It  was  like  a  roaring  furnace,  the  heat  intense,  the 
smoke  suffocating. 

The  shouting  of  the  men  was  drowned  in  the  con- 
fusel  mingling  of  horrible  sounds  as  the  flames  leaped 

*  Once  a  common  practice   among  the  negroes  of  the  South. 


34  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

and  licked  the  dry  hay  and  caught  the  weU-seasoned  tim- 
bers. 

The  horrid  odor  of  burnt  hair,  a  sudden  silence  in 
Ceph's  stall,  told  a  heart-rending  tale.  The  echoes  of 
his  mother  s  cry  had  hardly  died  away  when  True  felt 
a  cool,  wet  cloth  thrown  over  his  eyes  and  held  tightly ; 
something  struck  him  violently,  and  a  voice  spoke  to  him 
in  such  a  tone  of  command  that  he  forgot  everything  and, 
trembling  like  a  leaf,  allowed  himself  to  be  led  into  the 
outer  air. 

Then,  vaguely  at  first,  he  recognized  Mistress  Whit- 
man's tones,  soothing  now,  and  tender,  albeit  very  shaky ! 

''Come,  my  little  pet,  there's  naught  to  fear  now !" 

And,  trusting  her,  the  colt  followed  tractably  enough 
as  she  led  him  up  two  stone  steps  into  the  kitchen  and 
took  the  bandage  from  his  eyes. 

Then  she  hurried  out,  closing  the  door  tight. 

An  awful  crash,  a  sudden  greater  roar,  then  ominous 
silence — the  barn  roof  had  fallen  in! 

"Alas,  my  poor  mother !"  groaned  True. 

The  rattling  of  a  tin  pan  at  his  side  made  him  turn ; 
to  his  everlasting  joy  he  saw  Gipsey,  safe  and  sound  as 
himself,  shut  up  in  the  kitchen. 

Gipsey  was  an  excitable  mare,  and  began  to  prance 
about  the  place  in  an  unseemly  way,  switching  kettles 
and  pewter  pots  off  the  table  with  her  nervous  tail  and 
knocking  them  to  the  floor  with  a  monstrous  racket. 

Finally  she  pushed  the  cover  from  the  swinging  pot 
on  the  crane.  Luckily  the  fire  had  been  out  some  time 
and  the  delicious  contents  of  the  pot  barely  warm,  else 
she  would  have  had  her  nose  burned.  The  odor  of  the 
mash  proved  very  enticing  and  she  was  greedily,  or  maybe 
thoughtlessly,  about  to  drink  it  all,  when  True  pushed 
her  one  side,  as  if  to  remind  her  of  her  manners,  and 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  35 

finished  it  himself — little  dreaming,  either  one  of  them, 
it  was  the  Whitman's  frugal  supper. 

During  their  feast  the  uproar  outside  had  subsided, 
and  in  a  little  while  Silas  and  his  wife  came  in,  saying  it 
was  all  over  with  poor  old  Ceph. 

The  noses  of  the  two  rescued  horses  were  gray  and 
greasy  with  the  rich  mash,  but  in  the  thankfulness  of 
their  escape  the  Whitmans  cared  nothing  for  that.  Mis- 
tress Whitman  put  her  cheek  again  True's  soupy  face 
and  sobbed  in  a  very  womanish  way  for  joy  at  his  being 
spared  to  them. 

The  young  horse  submitted  patiently  to  her  caresses, 
though  her  hair,  looking  like  dry,  crisp  hay,  smelled  mor- 
tally of  smoke ;  he  saw  it  was  a  comfort  to  her  woman- 
heart  to  hang  about  his  neck  and  murmur  softly  in  his 
ear: 

"True,  dear  little  horse,"  she  whispered.  "It  doesn't 
matter  about  Ceph." 

''There  it  is  again,"  thought  True.  "Nobody  cares 
whether  poor  old  Ceph  is  burnt  up  or  not." 

And  nobody  did,  as  long  as  Gipsey  and  he  were  saved. 


36  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

CHAPTER    IV. 

JUSTIN     MORGAN. 

In  True's  third  year,  Master  Whitman  came  one  morn- 
in,  betimes,  to  brush  him  clown  before  taking  him  out 
for  his  usual  exercise — so  the  ''pony"  thought.  But 
after  a  while  he  was  convinced  that  his  master  called 
him  names  more  loving  and  tender  than  usual  and  that 
his  voice  had  a  sorrowful  ring. 

Gipsey  and  True  knew  that  hard  times  had  come  knock- 
ing at  the  farm-gate  and  that  their  kind  master  was  in 
debt  because  his  crops  had  failed  the  year  before.  They 
knew,  too,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  they  might 
have  to  be  sold  to  pay  these  debts. 

On  this  particular  morning  Master  Whitman  mur- 
mured sadly  to  his  pet  as  he  continued  to  polish  the  sides 
of  his  symmetrical  body  until  they  shone  like  the  bosom 
of  the  river  when  the  afterenoon  sunlight  played  upon 
it;  and  his  heavy  mane  and  tail  were  brushed  until  they 
waved  lightly  under  every  passing  breeze. 

With  unfailing  intuition  the  colt  saw  the  future:  their 
happy  home,  alas,  was  about  to  be  broken  up.  Even 
Caesar  felt  the  prevailing  gloom ;  dejectedly,  he  sat  on  a 
beam  and  washed  his  face  for  the  fifth  time  that  morn- 
ing, though  it  was  but  just  sunrise. 

Gipsey  peered  over  the  partition  of  their  stall  and 
whinneyed  softly,  but  with  resignation,  for,  wise  old 
horse  that  she  was,  she  knew  it  was  the  lot  of  horses  to 
be  parted,  sooner  or  later — here  to-day,  there  to-morrow. 

Presently  the  cat   sprang  nimbly  down,   and  arching 


FOUNDER   OF   HIS    RACE  3; 

his  back,  rubbed  himself  against  his  master's  leg  and 
purred  with  sympathy. 

In  spite  of  a  certain  sadness,  True  himself  felt  no  little 
excitement — anticipating  adventure,  as  is  the  manner  of 
youth  first  starting  out  into  the  great  world.  He  did 
not  then  know  the  horrors  of  homesickness  from  which 
affectionate  horses  suffer  so  keenly — suft'ering  that  neither 
sugar  nor  salt  can  assuage. 

Master  Whitman  had  always  made  play  and  pleasure 
of  training,  and  had  never  given  True  a  task  he  could 
not  perform.  For  this  reason  the  horse  accepted  every 
order  unhesitatingly,  with  the  confidence  of  absolute 
trust.  They  had  become  so  endeared  to  one  another  for 
these  and  sundry  other  causes  that  the  idea  of  a  parting 
was  inexpressibly  saddening  to  both. 

When,  a  half  hour  later.  True  w^as  hitched  to  the 
"shay" — which  he  now  pulled  with  such  ease  and  pleasure 
— he  fared  forth,  sad  at  heart,  but  eager  and  brisk  in 
gait,  as  usual.  The  day  had  advanced  and,  as  they  trav- 
elled, the  river  glinted  gold  in  the  light  which  the  morn- 
ing sun  threw  over  the  fringe  of  trees,  along  its  banks. 
Very  soon  they  arrived  at  the  tavern  where  already 
several  teams  stood  waiting. 

Throwing  the  reins  loosely  on  the  horse's  back — for  he 
had  been  trained  to  stand  without  hitching — Silas  Wliit- 
man  sprang  from  the  ''shay"  and  entered  the  tavern. 

He  was  gone  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  and  when  he 
returned  he  was  not  alone.  A  tall,  slender  stranger 
walked  beside  him,  and  as  they  drew  near  the  colt  per- 
ceived from  the  odor  of  this  man  that  he  was  a  pleasant- 
tempered  person  and  friendly  to  animals. 

Indeed,  True  liked  him  at  once,  and  'twas  well,  for  the 
pale,  scholarly  looking  man  whose  name  he  would  one 
day  bear,  was  none  other  than  Justin  Morgan,  who  had 


3B  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

once  lived  in  Springfield,  but  had  moved  to  Randolph, 
Vermont,  in  1788,  with  his  family. 

As  Master  Morgan  pressed  the  muscles  of  the  young 
horse  the  latter  did  not  flnich  nor  draw  away.  Then  the 
mouth  had  to  be  examined  and  the  feet  looked  at,  one 
by  one.  Questions  had  to  be  answered  and  other  in- 
vestigations made,  common  among  men  engaged  in  a 
horse  deal. 

Master  Whitman  answered  the  questions,  or  stood  in 
grave  silence,  his  eyes  moist  with  the  tears  he  could 
not  entirely  hide,  as  his  acquaintance  considered  True's 
various  traits. 

''Yes,  sir,"  the  stranger  finally  said,  ''this  colt,  as  you 
say,  is  free  from  natural  blemish  and  is  not  disfigured 
by  that  cruel,  prevailing  practice  of  branding.  He  seems 
sound.  .  .  .  You  say  he  is  the  son  of  De  Lancey's  True 
Briton,  and  his  mother  a  descendant  of  the  Layton 
Barb?" 

"I  repeat  it,"  replied  Silas  Whitman,  "these  are  the 
facts,  to  the  best  of  my  belief/' 

He  could  scarcely  trust  himself  to  speak. 

"He  is  remarkably  well  ribbed-up  and  firm  under  the 
mane,  for  so  young  a  horse,"  said  Master  Morgan,  "but 
he  is  small." 

"He  is  not  yet  entirely  developed,"  was  the  answer. 
"You  see,  he  is,  as  yet,  scarce  three  years  old.  But  he 
is  a  bit  over  fourteen  hands,  and  weighs  already  upwards 
of  nine  hundred  pounds.  I  told  you  he  might  be  called 
a  pony,  except  for  his  characteristics." 

"No  doubt  he  will  increase  in  weight,  and  maybe  a  bit 
in  height,"  Master  Morgan  agreed.  "His  Arabian  an- 
cestry would  account  for  his  size.  Not  that  I  am  one 
of  those  foolish  persons  who  considers  size  necessary  for 
perfection,''  he  hastily  added.  "Since  I  have  seen  him 
I  am  willing  to  take  him  in  place  of  the  twenty-five  dol- 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  39 

lars  you  owe  me,  though  twenty-five  dollars  is  a  large 
sum,  and  I  am  a  poor  man.      Shall  we  call  it  settled?" 

For  a  moment  True  thought  his  old  master  would 
surely  have  one  of  his  spells  of  faintness,  but  when  he 
finally  spoke  his  voice  was  brave  and  steady. 

"The  pony,"  he  said,  gently,  '\vill  be  ready  for  you  in 
the  morning."  He  rested  his  arm  across  True's  neck, 
while  the  stranger  looked  away  for  a  moment.  ''This 
little  horse,"  Silas  continued,  after  a  pause,  having  re- 
covered himself,  "has  been  to  me  what  the  'steed  of  the 
desert'  is  to  his  Arab  master.  When  I  part  with  him 
I  give  you  the  best  friendship  I  ever  had ;  the  best  work 
of  three  years,  spent  in  training  and  developing  the  in- 
telligence of  this  remarkable  horse.  And,  mark  you,  he 
will  live  to  bear  out  the  confidence  I  have  in  him.  I 
have  ever  treated  him  as  a  human  being;  I  have  romped 
with  him,  played  with  him,  talked  to  him  as  I  might  have 
talked  to  a  child — if  Providence  had  blessed  my  wife 
and  me  with  such  a  treasure — but  I  have  ever  insisted 
upon  obedience  and  respect,  as  a  father  should  insist  upon 
these  qualities  from  a  child." 

"As  I  insist  upon  in  mine,"  acquiesced  Master  Mor- 
gan, as  Silas  hesitated  a  moment,  feeling  he  was  per- 
haps saying  too  much. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  more  I  would  add,"  went  on 
Silas,  feeling  a  friendly  sympathy  from  Master  Morgan. 
"Be  good  to  him  and  he  will  be  faithful  to  you,  teach 
him  to  love  you  and  his  willing  service  will  be  to  you  and 
yours  until  the  end.  He  does  not  know  what  falter 
means,  and  if  you-  are  wise  you  will  never  let  him  find 
out  by  asking  him  to  do  impossible  things.  Ask  of 
him  only  that  which  is  within  his  power  and  he  will 
never  fail  you." 

Kind-hearted  Master  Morgan  grasped  Whitman's 
hand.      "I  shall  not  forget,"  he  said,  deeply  touched. 


40  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

That  night  Caesar  climbed  on  the  rack  of  True's  stall 
and  dropped  lightly  down  on  the  horse's  back,  where  he 
purred  an  undying  affection  and  sorrow  at  his  friend's 
approaching  departure.  Hoping  to  cheer  him  a  little, 
the  cat  told  many  anecdotes  of  other  stables  and  barns 
which  he  suggested  True  might  some  time  visit,  but  the 
heavy  sadness  could  not  be  lifted  from  their  hearts.  Gip- 
sey  gave  him  advice,  and  at  midnight  Master  Whitman 
came  to  see  if  all  were  well  with  his  pet.  At  cock-crow 
Mistress  Whitman  appeared  with  a  most  delicious  break- 
fast as  a  parting  favor. 

Silas  had  just  finished  rubbing  the  young  horse  down 
when  his  new  owner  came,  bringing  his  own  saddle  and 
bridle — and  very  easy  and  comfortable  they  were,  too. 

When  the  sad  partings  were  over.  True  stepped  fear- 
lessly out  on  his  way  to  the  broad  highway  of  the  world, 
where  he  was  to  have  so  many  sweet  and  bitter  ex- 
periences. 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  41 


CHAPTER  V. 

TRUE    MEETS    HIS   FATHER. 

"'Oh,   'twas   a  joyful   sound   to   hear, 
Our  tribes  devoutly  say, 
Up  Israel,  to  the  Temple  haste. 
And  keep  your  festal  day !' " 

It  was  Justin  Morgan,  singing  his  favorite  hymn,  in 
his  light  tenor  voice,  and  True  pointed  his  ears  to  better 
hear  the  agreeable  sound. 

Master  Morgan  was  not  a  strong  man  physically,  and 
his  ways  were  those  of  a  scholar  and  student,  but  he  was 
lovable  and  staunch  and  true,  and,  lilting  the  stave  of 
"Mear"  he  set  out  on  the  road  to  the  southward. 

Along  the  bank  of  the  tranquil  river  stretched  the 
highway  to  Hartford,  and  it  was  Master  Morgan's  plan 
to  exhibit  his  new  horse  at  the  great  fair  so  soon  to  be 
held  in  that  fine  city. 

It  was  near  sunset  when  they  arrived,  and  True  stepped 
out  so  smartly,  and  Justin  Morgan,  being  a  great  rider, 
the  people  paused  in  the  streets  to  admire  them,  as  they 
cantered  easily  on  to  the  public  stable  to  rest  and  refresh 
themselves. 

True's  name  was  now  changed  to  'Tigure,"  the  name 
once  borne  by  a  famous  horse,  dead  some  years  since ; 
and  under  this  name  he  came  to  be  known  through  the 
columns  of  that  very  respected  paper,  The  Hartford 
Coiirant. 

"Next  to  his  own  father,  sir,"  True  heard  the  hostler 
say,  as  he  led  him  into  a  stall  and  snapped  the  catch  of 
the  halter  into  the  ring.      "Now  what  do  you  think  of 


42  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

that?  The  horse  in  the  next  box,  sir,  is  Mr.  Selah  Nor- 
ton's Beautiful  Bay,  him  that  was  True  Briton." 

Master  Morgan  looked  in  at  the  splendid  animal  and 
said,  ''Oh,  the  De  Lancey  horse,  eh  ?  A  fine  fellow  he  is 
still,  I  see,  in  spite  of  his  age.  Well,  all  I  can  say  is, 
mine  is  the  'worthy  son  of  a  worthy  sire' !" 

True  quivered.  Already  the  great  world  was  offering 
adventure  and  reward.  Crowding  through  his  veins 
the'  fire  of  his  father's  race  throbbed  and  surged,  his 
niimQ  shook  and  he  flicked  his  waving  tail  with  eager  an- 
ticipation. His  alert  ears  pointed  back  and  forth  with 
attention,  his  eyes  glowed  and  his  wide  nostrils  trembled 
as  he  inhaled  the  scent  of  his  father  for  the  first  time. 
Proud  and  vigorous,  he  pawed  the  floor  to  attract  Beau- 
tiful Bay;  now  and  then  he  glanced  with  feigned  care- 
lessness through  a  wide  crack. 

Full  soon  he  was  rewarded  by  a  sight  of  the  gleaming 
eye  of  his  neighbor  at  the  same  aperture. 

For  a  moment  they  gazed  in  silence ;  then  True  took  a 
step  forward,  and  raising  his  nose  to  the  top  of  the  par- 
tition met  the  firm  tip  of  his  father's. 

Without  further  demonstration  an  aft'ection  sprang  up 
between  the  two. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  hostler  came  to  lead  the  r:w 
horse  out,  in  the  deepening  twilight,  to  show  him  to 
some  visitors.  The  interest  True  took  in  the  perform- 
ance, one  could  be  reasonably  certain,  was  not  on  account 
of  the  visitors,  but  because  he  was  well  aware  of  his 
splendid  father's  interest  and  admiration. 

That  night  when  all  was  quiet  the  old  war-horse  said : 

**You  are  like  your  mother,  my  son,  I  remember  her 
well — and  a  fine,  noble  mare  she  was,  to  be  sure.  Her 
hoof  beat  music  from  the  path  and  she  struck  the  road 
with  the  same  nervous  tread  that  I  see  you  have — as  a 
pigeon  in  full  career  repulses  the  air.      She  scoffed  at 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  43 

hills  and  mounted  them  with  a  dash  of  spirited  flight,  as 
if  she  joyed  in  their  difficulties." 

True  recalled  his  mother's  admiration  of  his  father, 
and  his  heart  beat  gratefully  at  these  words.  He,  too, 
remembered  Gipsey's  poetic  motion,  her  rhythmic  step,  as 
if  she  trod  an  even  melody,  and  her  willingness  to  take 
a  hill. 

"As  his  name  is,  so  is  he, 
If  you  believe  not,   come  and  see !'' 

So  The  Hartford  Courant  described  Beautiful  Bay,  and 
the  rhyme  was  a  by-word  about  the  town — for  they  were 
very  proud  of  Beautiful  Bay  in  Hartford.  It  was  not 
long  before  True  heard  the  couplet  in  the  stables,  and 
right  proud  was  he  to  be  the  son  of  so  praised  a  father. 

Beautiful  Bay  told  True  many  stirring  tales  in  the 
quiet  nights  they  spent  so  close  together,  for  the  older 
horse  had  ever  been  a  "soldier  of  Fortune"  and  his  Hfe 
one  of  constant  change  and  excitement. 

It  was  a  great  boast  for  a  horse  to  say  he  had  been 
bred  in  the  De  Lancey  stables,  for  those  De  Lanceys, 
like  Mahommed,  had  been  lovers  of  horses,  and  their 
stables  and  half-mile  running  track,  in  the  centre  of  what 
was  so  soon  to  be  the  very  heart  of  the  great  city  of 
New  York,  was  the  finest  in  the  Northern  Colonies  be- 
fore the  War  of  the  Revolution. 

Gay  blades  were  those  De  Lanceys,  and  their  rightful 
inheritance  was  the  sporting  blood  of  old  England,  though 
they  were,  after  all,  part  Huguenot,  part  Dutch,  by  an- 
cestry. 

Colonel  De  Lancey,  True  Briton's  first  owner,  had  mar- 
ried a  Mitsress  Van  Courtlandt,  whose  family  had  a  King 
and  a  Bishop  at  their  backs,  and  occupied  half  the  im- 
portant posts  under  the  crown.  He  was  a  rollicking, 
generous,  reckless  gentleman,  at  home  alike  in  drawing- 


44  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

room  or  on  the  course,  but  when,  through  stress  of  cir- 
cumstances, this  British  officer  had  to  change  his  mode  of 
Hving,  there  was  a  sale  of  his  horses  at  John  Fowler's 
Tavern,  near  the  Tea- Water  Pump,  in  Bowery  Lane. 
All  the  favorites  went  but  his  especial  saddle  horse.  True 
Briton — who  now  frankly  admitted  to  his  son  his  worth 
and  beauty  in  those  days.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  have  no 
false  modesty  about  it  at  all,  and  confessed  his  superiority 
over  all  his  stable-mates,  even  though  among  them  there 
were  such  horses  as  Lath  and  Slamerkin. 

According  to  the  accounts  of  the  old  horse  his  youth 
had  been  spent  in  a  time  the  like  of  which  True  could 
never  see.  He  told  of  the  gaily  dressed  dandies — wait- 
ing on  ladies  in  silks  and  satins  and  waving  plumes — ^at 
the  meets ;  of  the  sudden  seal  of  disapproval  Congress 
had  put  upon  the  dissipations  and  extravagances  of  the 
race-course;  of  how  the  Annapolis  Jockey  Club  had  set 
the  foolish  fashion  of  economy  by  closing  its  course ;  of 
how  the  grass  grew  up  in  the  one-time  splendid  Centre 
Course  at  Philadelphia. 

But  of  all  his  anecdotes  the  tale  of  how  True  Briton 
became  a  true  Patriot  interested  the  young  horse  most, 
and  ran  in  this  wise : 

Colonel  De  Lancey  was  stationed  at  Westchester  with 
his  regiment,  which  was  known  far  and  wide  as  "The 
Cow-Boys,"  because  they  stole  cattle  from  the  "Skin- 
ners" (a  name  given  the  farmers  at  that  time). 

At  last  the  latter  resolved  to  appeal  to  the  Colonel-in- 
command  for  a  protection  of  their  rights  and  property. 
Accordingly,  "Skinner  Smith"  called  upon  Colonel  De 
Lancey,  a  white  handkerchief  tied  to  a  stick,  to  show  a 
peaceful  errand,  and  made  complaint  of  the  depredations 
of  the  "Cow-Boys." 

Now  the  Colonel,  ever  cool  and  gay,  as  became  a  De 
Lancey,  cried  out  with  a  great  laugh: 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  45 

"These  be  the  chances  of  war,  my  lack-beard.  If  my 
good  soldiers  need  cattle,  or  food  of  other  kind,  and  you 
will  not  give  it  to  them,  egad !  they  must  steal  it !  Best 
curb  your  uncouth  tongue  and  be  gone !" 

"Then,  by  my  lack  of  beard !"  quoth  Skinner  Smith, 
nettled — ^he  was  an  impudent  young  scamp,  and  feared  no 
one — "  'What  is  sauce  for  the  goose,  is  sauce  for  the 
gander !'  If  these  be  the  'chances  of  war,'  look  well  to 
that  fine  horse  of  yours !  I  warn  you  fairly,  others  can 
be  cattle  stealers,  too !  I  warn  you  fairly — and  now 
wish  you  a  very  good  day." 

It  chanced  that  under  cover  of  darkness  one  night, 
shortly  afterward.  Colonel  De  Lancey  rode  to  see  his 
mother  at  some  distance  and  left  True  Briton  hitched 
at  the  door-step. 

Young  Smith,  waiting  his  "chance  of  war,"  sprang 
from  behind  a  tree  as  the  door  of  the  house  closed,  un- 
hitched the  horse,  leaped  into  the  saddle  and  plunging 
spurs  into  True  Briton's  sides — who,  wide  of  eye  and  red- 
nostrilled,  sprang  forward — did  not  draw  rein  until  he  was 
well  within  the  American  lines. 

The  amazed  and  disgusted  Colonel  raised  an  alarm  ana 
roused  his  orderlies,  but  too  late.  He  never  saw  his 
favorite  again  until  one  fine  day  he  found  himself  in- 
carcerated in  the  jail  at  Hartford  with  manv  another 
"Red-Coat." 

Beautiful  Bay.  then  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Selah 
Norton,  was  standing  in  front  of  Bull's  Tavern,  across 
Meeting  House  Green. 

"Blood  will  tell,  in  men  as  well  as  horses,"  finished 
Beautiful  Bay.  "When  Colonel  De  Lancey  recognized 
me  he  threw  me  a  laughing  greeting  and  a  wave  of  the 
hand.  I  could  almost  hear  what  his  parted  lips  were 
saying:  'The  chance  of  war,  my  friend!'  " 


46  JUSTIN    MORGAN 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TRUE  GAZES   UPON    MISTRESS   LLOYD,   OF   MARYLAND. 

The  following  day,  laughter  and  talk  outside  the  stable 
announced  that  several  persons  had  come  to  visit  the 
horses. 

It  chanced  that  among  them  was  that  brilliant  quar- 
tette of  men,  known  as  the  "Hartford  Wits,"  with  Mas- 
ter Trumbull  at  their  head. 

The  latter  stood  chatting  with  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl, 
dark-eyed  and  merry.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  fine, 
thread-lace  kerchief — like  gossamer  films  at  dawn — and 
a  pouf  of  gauze  fell  away  from  her  snowy  throat.  She 
wore  a  perriot  of  flowered  taffeta  trimmed  with  herri- 
sons,  and  from  beneath  her  petticoat  two  little  slippered 
feet  peeped  shyly.  She  was  the  most  radiant  being  True 
had  ever  seen.  Enraptured,  he  followed  her  with  his 
eyes  whichever  way  she  turned.  For  all  her  beauty,  she 
was  yet  strong  and  fine  in  her  promise  of  fuller  woman- 
hood. There  was  a  quick  certainty  about  her  every  move- 
ment, and  a  steadiness  of  eye  that  showed  no  indetermi- 
nate character. 

Near  her  stood  a  Coxcomb,  filling  the  air  with  odors 
of  musk  and  powders,  offensive  to  the  nostrils  of  the  little 
horse  who  was  led  past  him.  A  secret  loathing  for 
this  popinjay  was  born  in  his  heart  which  he  never  out- 
grew. 

"Ah,  Mistress  Lloyd,"  said  the  Coxcomb,  drawling 
his  words  disagreeably,  and  waving  a  scented  lace- 
bordered  handkerchief,  "what  say  you  to  Beautiful  Bay? 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  47 

Have  your  kinsmen,  Carroll  of  Carrollton,  or  the  Hon. 
Edward  Lloyd — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  the  dashing 
Tom  Dulaney — anything  finer  at  their  country-seats  in 
Maryland?  Is  there  anything  in  Virginia,  or  South 
Carolina,  to  compare  with  our  Beautiful  Bay?" 

Smiling,  the  maid  stepped  in  front  of  Beautiful  Bay 
and  held  out  a  slender  pink  palm — like  the  petals  of  wild 
roses  True  had  seen  on  his  way  from  Springfield — on  it 
lay  a  bit  of  maple  sugar,  and  right  proudly  the  old  horse 
arched  his  neck  and  ate  from  her  hand,  picking  up  the 
crumbs  with  his  firm  but  flexible  lips,  that  his  hard  teeth 
might  not  scar  the  tender  flesh. 

With  her  dainty  kerchief  she  flicked  his  side  lightly, 
replying  evasively: 

"We've  nothing  better  groomed."  Turning  to  her 
father  she  cried  gaily,  "Come  hither,  Daddy,  dear,  and 
touch  his  satin  coat !" 

Beautiful  Bay  pranced  a  little  to  show  his  apprecia- 
tion. 

"Have  a  care,  my  child,"  warned  her  father. 

Her  laughter  rippled  forth  as  she  drew  Beautiful 
Bay's  muzzle  down  for  a  caress. 

"It  would  not  bite  a  maiden's  cheek,  would  it?"  she 
cooed  in  his  ready  ear,  and  he  trembled  with  joy  at  the 
sound.  Young  Mistress  Lloyd's  "way  with  horses"  was 
known  from  Maryland  to  Boston. 

The  Coxcomb  flicked  his  riding  boot  impatiently  with 
his  whip.  This  annoyed  Beautiful  Bay,  who,  thinking 
to  please  the  maid,  turned  abruptly  to  him  and  bared  his 
teeth,  flattening  his  ears. 

The  popinjay  sprang  to  one  side. 

"He  can't  abide  smells  I"  explained  the  hostler,  apolo- 
getically, as  he  led  the  old  horse  back  into  his  stable. 

And  this  was  the  first  time  that  True  saw  Mistress 


48  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Lloyd,  of  Maryland;  though  she  had  taken  no  notice  of 
him,  he  never  forgot  it. 

Deeply  attached  did  the  two  horses  become  to  each 
other,  and  Old  Worldly-Wise  taught  Young  Innocence 
much  that  was  afterwards  of  use  to  him.  He  told  him  of 
the  city,  where  men  sat,  far  into  the  night,  and  played 
cards  or  other  games  by  the  glare  of  torchlight  or  wax 
candle ;  of  how  they  danced  with  or  serenaded  fair  ladies 
till  cock-crow.  It  contrasted  strangely  with  True's  for- 
mer quiet  nights  and  peaceful  days  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Connecticut,  but  it  interested  him  intensely  and  awak- 
ened longings  within  him. 

He  marvelled  to  see  Beautiful  Bay  active  and  spirited 
enough  at  his  age  to  clear  a  five-barred  gate  like  a  grey- 
hound, and  to  see  his  bearing  under  the  saddle  alike 
youthful  and  stylish. 

The  old  horse  had  a  fund  of  anecdotes  to  impart  about 
the  Desert  and  its  traditions. 

"Arabs,"  he  said,  "think  it  wicked  to  change  their 
coursers  into  beasts  of  burden  and  tillage.  Why  did 
Allah  make  the  ox  for  the  plough  and  the  camel  to  trans- 
port merchandise,  if  not  that  the  horse  was  for  the  race?" 

True  had  no  answer  ready,  so  Beautiful  Bay  continued  : 

"If  you  meet  one  of  the  Faithful  in  the  Desert  mounted 
on  a  kochlani,  and  he  shall  say  to  you,  'God  bless  you !' 
before  you  can  say,  'And  God's  blessing  be  upon  you !' 
he  shall  be  out  of  sight." 

True  learned  how  to  judge  a  horse  by  his  color  through 
Arabian  tradition. 

"White  is  for  princes,  but  these  do  not  stand  the  heat ; 
black  brings  good  fortune,  but  fears  rocky  ground ;  chest- 
nut is  most  active — if  one  tells  you  he  has  seen  a  horse 
'fly  in  the  air,'  and  the  horse  be  chestnut,  believe  him !" 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  True  anxiously 
waited  to  hear  what  was  said  of  bays. 


FOUNDER   OF   HIS    RACE  49 

Finally  he  asked. 

"They  say,"  answered  his  father,  with  a  certain  natural 
pride,  "that  'bay  is  hardiest  and  best.'  If  one  tells  you 
he  has  seen  a  horse  leap  to  the  bottom  of  a  precipice 
without  hurting  himself/  and  if  he  say  'bay,'  believe  him !" 

And  being  bay.  True  was  happy. 

"The  Arab,"  continued  the  father,  "who  lives  with  his 
horse,  and  prizes  him  above  his  family,  as  is  most  meet 
and  proper,  learns  to  know  him  well.  There  are  those 
in  the  Desert  to-day  who  claim  to  trace  the  lineage  of 
their  horses  back  to  those  of  Mohammed.  These  they 
train  to  endure  hunger,  fatigue  and  thirst  to  stand  the 
Desert  life.  Some  are  said  to  be  able  to  travel  eighty 
leagues  in  twenty-four  hours." 

There  were  modern  incidents  in  Beautiful  Bay's  lore 
— tales  of  the  Southern  States — so  lately  colonies — told 
him  by  his  famous  father,  Traveller,  who  was  imported 
from  England  and  owned  by  Colonel  Tayloe  of  Vir- 
ginia. 

"The  blood  of  a  thoroughbred  flows  quicker  on  the 
course  than  on  a  hill-side  farm,"  said  the  old  horse,  and 
related  a  story  of  the  meet  at  Annapolis,  when  he  and 
Colonel  De  Lancey  went  down  from  New  York  to  visit 
The  Dulaney  of  Maryland. 

Discussing  the  merits  of  the  horses  stood  a  group  of 
the  famous  horsemen  of  the  day :  Tom  Lee,  of  Virginia ; 
Mason,  of  Gunstan  Hall,  and  De  Lancey,  of  New  York — 
when  The  Dulaney  joined  them. 

"  'Sdeath,  De  Lancey !"  he  cried,  in  his  hearty  voice, 
"and  right  glad  am  I  to  see  you^here.  These  spindling 
bets  of  fifty  or  a  hundred  pounds  please  me  not.  I  want 
gold,  man,  gold,  I  say !"  Laughing  carelessly,  he  flicked 
a  speck  of  dust  from  his  coat  sleeve  with  a  white  linen 
handkerchief. 

"Gold?     Egad,  so  do  I!"  answered  the  rollicking  De 


50  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Lancey.  ''What  say  you  to  a  peck  of  gold?  Neither 
do  I  deal  in  quarters  and  halves." 

"Make  it  a  struck  bushel  of  Spanish  dollars,  and  I  will 
back  my  horse  against  yours  or  the  field!"  cried  the 
Southerner. 

The  bet  made  was  perhaps  the  most  sensational  money- 
bet  ever  made  on  the  Annapolis  course. 

Deafening  cheers  rent  the  air  as  The  Dulaney's  horse 
finished  the  one-mile  circle  a  nose  ahead. 


j'^  .•ak/te'S     a^'^  ^    fjf!/^ 


iMoin  Linsli 


JUSTIN   MORGAN. 


"THOU   SHAI.T   BE   TO  MAN  A   SOURCE  OF    HAPPINE.SS 
AND    WEAI^TH." '-MAHOMET 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  51 


CHAPTER  VH. 

IN     WHICH     MISTRESS    LLOYD,    OF    MARYLAND,    GIVES    TRUE 
HIS  FIRST   RIBBAND. 

One  sunny  September  morning,  when  the  weather  was 
clear  and  fine  and  the  trees  were  waving  their  crisp, 
gay-tinted  leaves  over  the  grass-bordered  roadways  lead- 
ing to  the  fair-gronnds,  the  horses  were  blanketed  and 
led  towards  the  place  of  exhibition,  for  this  was  the  great 
opening  of  the  Hartford  Fair,  and  many  had  come  from 
as  far  as  New  York  and  Boston  to  attend  it.  There 
was  much  prancing  and  side-stepping  among  the  horses 
after  a  fine  breakfast  to  put  them  in  a  good  humor. 

True  had  been  exhibited  once  at  a  small  fair  in  Spring- 
field and  knew  a  little  of  what  was  expected  of  him, 
but  of  course  this  was  a  much  greater  occasion  and  a 
sensation  of  slight  nervousness  and  anticipation  held  his 
heart. 

Some  of  the  younger  horses  were  ill-mannered ;  they 
bit  at  their  grooms  or  snorted  and  showed  their  teeth 
rudely,  which  astonished  True,  for  he  had  been  taught 
to  be  polite  always.  Some  of  them  grew  very  excited 
and  some  knew  they  might  change  owners,  and  receive 
prizes  for  this  trait  or  that.  It  was  a  day  long  to  be 
remembered  by  them  all. 

What  a  scene  met  their  eyes  when,  at  last,  they  were 
in  sight  of  the  Grounds !  Early,  as  it  was,  there  were 
more  men  assembled  together  than  True  had  ever  seen 
and  they  made  a  point  of  all  talking  at  once,  which  con- 
fused the  horses  no  little ;  they  shouted  at  the  tops 
of  their  voices,  too,  as  if  everybody  were  stone  deaf. 


52  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

The  women,  however,  stood  quietly,  and  modestly  at 
one  side  in  little  sheltered  booths  where  they  displayed 
in  a  most  becoming-  manner  their  handiwork :  quilts, 
with  beautiful  and  appropriate  names,  and  wonderful 
pieces  of  hand-woven  homespun  and  linen.  Farther  on 
True  espied  piles  of  carrots,  squashes  and  other  delic- 
ious things  which  would  have  made  his  mouth  water  had 
he  not  been  so  bewildered  by  the  noises.  Music  sounded 
and  set  him  dancing  and  showing  his  remarkable  mus- 
cles to  advantage. 

Even  Beautiful  Bay,  experienced  as  he  must  have 
been  in  such  events,  seemed  to  be  under  the  influence  of 
the  lively  atmosphere  and  curved  his  neck  with  spirit  to 
the  admiration  and  respect  of  everyone  who  knew  the 
old  horse.  True  felt  a  little  anxiety  for  the  result  when 
Beautiful  Bay  was  led  before  the  Judges,  but  this  was 
quite  unnecessary ;  he  returned  with  a  blue  ribband  on 
his  bridle  and  a  very  satisfied  look  in  his  eye. 

Then  the  Three-year-olds  were  called. 

True's  temples  throbbed ;  there  were  many  beautiful 
horses  there  and,  being  modest,  he  had  not  guessed  that 
he  was  the  most  beautiful  and  meritorious  of  them  all. 

When  they  were  led  out  some  bared  their  teeth,  kicked 
at  each  other,  and  misbehaved  shockingly.  The  con- 
trast between  True's  breeding  and  theirs  was  very 
marked.  When  the  Judges  approached  some  of  them 
even  went  so  far  as  to  whirl  for  a  kick ! 

True  in  his  turn,  however,  stepped  out  briskly  and 
easily,  small,  lean  head  high,  heavy  black  mane  and  tail 
waving  lightly  in  the  morning  breeze.  But,  all  sud- 
denly, the  stupid  groom  jerked  his  halter  sharply. 

Startled,  the  young  horse  flung  himself  backward. 

''Now,  you  young  rascal !"  cried  the  lout,  grandly,  as 
if  he  were  Mahommed  himself,  "None  of  your  capers 
with  me!" 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  53 

Not  being  accustomed  to  rudeness,  True  backed,  in- 
dignantly, and  dragged  the  boy  along  with  him. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  rustle,  like  leaves  in  au- 
tumn, or  the  brush  of  wings,  and  the  flying  figure  of  a 
maid  seemed  poised  beside  the  little  horse,  so  light  and 
airy  was  she. 

All  the  odors  of  aromatic  herbs  and  grasses  of  Arabia 
— myrrh,  frankincense  and  balsam,  of  which  his 
mother  had  told  him — enveloped  his  imagination  and  de- 
lighted his  senses.  He  thrust  his  large  tremulous  nos- 
trils forward,  hungry  to  inhale  more  deeply  of  this  new 
creature.     Never  had  he  scented  her  like  before. 

''Oh,  please,  Mr.  Judge!"  she  cried,  and  as  soon  as 
she  spoke  True  recognized  the  dulcet  tones  of  Mistress 
Lloyd,  of  Maryland.  Thrilling,  as  she  caught  his  rein, 
he  calmed  himself  instantly.  ''Don't  let  them  jerk  him 
so !  Ah,  my  Beauty,"  she  continued,  putting  her  cheek 
against  his,  "here  is  a  piece  of  sugar  for  you !"  She  ex- 
tended the  rose-leaf  palm,  from  which  he  had  seen  his 
father  eat  one  day  and  on  which  was  another  bit  of 
maple  sugar.  "See,  he  is  so  zmlling  to  be  good,  if  yon 
zv'ill  but  let  himT 

When  he  had  lipped  her  hand  all  over  very  gently, 
to  get  the  last  crumb,  True  poked  his  small  muzzle 
into  the  hollow  of  her  neck  and  listened  to  her  voice 
murmuring  in  his  ear.  All  the  soft  breezes  and  blue 
sky  of  the  universe  were  concentrated  in  the  delicious 
spell  of  her  presence,  for  this  young  maiden  was  one  of 
those  rare  human  beings  who  possess  a  mysterious  un- 
derstanding of  animals,  especially  horses,  which  gives 
a  power  and  control  over  them — almost  miraculous. 

True  stepped  carefully,  lest  his  small  well-shaped  hoofs 
might  tread  upon  the  marvellously  tiny  feet  half  hidden 
beneath  the  flowered  petticoat.  All  the  while  her  voice  was 
saying  soft,  delightful  things  in  his  listening  ear. 


54  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

When  she  finally  gave  up  his  rein  and  turned  away, 
the  young  horse  followed,  drawn  as  by  a  magnet  and 
dragged  the  groom  with  him,  scarce  seeming  to  feel  the 
boy  pulling  at  the  halter. 

A  murmur  of  polite  laughter  made  Mistress  Lloyd 
look  back. 

Smiling  sweetly,  she  turned  and  stroked  True's  broad 
forehead  with  her  magic  hand,  and,  telling  him  softly, 
to  "go  back  and  be  judged,"  she  reminded  him  he  was 
at  a  Fair. 

Indeed  he  needed  reminding,  for  so  absorbed  had  he 
been  in  her  loveliness  that  he  had  forgotten  all  else ! 

The  groom  then  gave  a  gentler  tug  at  the  halter  and 
True  consented  to  be  led  before  the  Judges,  who  had  not 
yet  told  the  people  he  was  the  finest  Three-year-old  in 
New  England.  "The  Hartford  Wits"  and  their  friends, 
the  Maryland  Lloyds,  watched  the  consultation  of  Judges, 
hoping  the  ribband  would  be  given  to  "Figure." 

In  a  few  moments  one  of  the  committee  came  and 
spoke  a  few  words  to  Mistress  Lloyd ;  she  smiled  with 
pleasure,  and  nodded  her  pretty  head  in  assent. 

In  another  moment  True  heard  the  sound  as  of  leaves 
in  an  autumn  forest,  and  there  she  was,  beside  him  once 
more,  a  fillet  of  blue  in  her  hand. 

Daintily  she  reached  the  headstall  of  his  halter  and 
firmly  she  tied  it  on — all  the  while  talking  to  him,  oh, 
so  sweetly : 

"And  so  'tis  yours  !  I  knew  'twould  be,  you  beauty ! 
You're  far  lovelier  than  your  father,  even,  and  you  must 
always  be  a  good  colt  and  make  everybody  love  you  as 
you've  made  me !" 

Somehow,  True  did  not  mind  being  called  a  "colt"  by 
her,  it  seemed  more  like  a  caress  than  patronage ;  but 
had  the  Coxcomb^  standing  by,  done  it  he  would  have 
been  tempted  to  take  a  whirl  at  him. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  55 

"Some  day,"  went  on  Mistress  Lloyd,  "my  father  will 
buy  you  for  me  and  I  shall  take  you  down  to  Mary- 
land— I  want  Tom  Dulaney  to  see  you !"  True  could 
hear  by  the  tones  of  her  voice  as  she  mentioned  his  name 
that  this  Tom  Dulaney  must  be  a  personage  of  conse- 
quence. "You  are  small,  and  some  might  say  not  lean 
enough  to  hunt,  but  you  are  the  dearest  animal  I  ever 
won  the  love  of!"  For  'twas  ever  the  habit  of  this  fair 
maid  to  weave  her  spell  over  animals,  and  well  aware 
was  she  of  their  response ! 

Then,  oh,  miracle  of  delights !  as  she  finished  tying 
the  strand  she  kissed  his  straight  face  with  lips  that 
looked  and  smelled  like  crimson  clover  blossoms  wet 
with  dew. 

This  perfumed  dream  was  broken  by  a  disagreeable 
laugh,  and  a  well-bred  but  none  the  less  offensive  voice 
said : 

'The  brute  will  bite  you.  Mistress." 

It  was  the  Coxcomb  speaking. 

'T  am  afraid  of  no  horse  living,  Master  Knicker- 
bocker," she  gave  reply,  quietly ;  then  looking  straight 
at  him,  she  finished,  "horses  are  often  truer  than  men." 

She  turned  quickly  and  joined  her  father. 


56  JUSTIN    MORGAN 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TRUE  GOES  TO  FOUND  HIS  RACE. 

Beautiful  Bay  boasted  of  having  carried  the  Marquis 
de  Lafayette  to  the  great  banquet  the  Hartford  people 
gave  him  at  the  Bunch  of  Grapes  Tavern,  in  1784. 
The  reference  to  this  made  the  younger  horse  hope,  as 
ever,  rather  recklessly,  that  another  war  might  be  de- 
clared which  would  give  him  such  opportunities  to  dis- 
tinguish himself  as  his  father  had  had. 

Sometimes  father  and  son  stood  beneath  the  Elm  on 
Main  street  and  Beautiful  Bay  told  True  of  the  meet- 
in  there  of  Generals  Washington,  Hamilton  and  Knox, 
in  1780,  when  they  discussed  the  Yorktown  campaign. 
The  ground  under  it  was  trodden  hard,  as  if  many 
others  had  stood  to  tell  or  listen  to  the  story. 

One  day  True  heard  the  tale  of  the  Charter  Oak  as 
they  passed  it  on  their  way  for  a  lounge  on  Sentinel 
Hill ;  and  he  heard,  too,  the  exciting  times  accompany- 
ing the  burning  of  the  State  House,  in  1783. 

Often  they  passed  a  queer  looking  young  man;  head 
bent  in  thought,  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  at  whom 
people  pointed,  saying  with  a  shrug  of  understanding, 
as  if  to  make  allowances  for  the  eccentricities  of  a 
scholar. 

'There  goes  No-y  Webster!" 

Now  and  again  the  two  horses  went  over  to  Mathew 
Allyn's  mill  where  the  stones  turned  corn  into  delicious 
meal;  or  they  made  trips  under  the  saddle  up  Rocky 
Hill,  where  men  were  hanged  from  a  gibbet  over  the 


FOUNDER   OF   HIS   RACE  57 

precipice  if  they  had  been  wicked — or  if  men  said  they 
had — which  came  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end. 

Certain  days  each  week  were  called  ''Market  Days," 
and  farmers  came  to  Hartford  to  sell  their  produce. 
The  Meeting  House  bell  called  them  together  and  when 
True  was  present  they  often  stood  near  to  admire  him 
and  invite  him  to  visit  their  farms.  These  were  very 
profitable  experiences  to  True  and  his  owner,  for  there 
was  always  plenty  of  good  food  and  bedding. 

It  was  with  no  little  regret,  therefore,  that  True  found 
one  day  Master  Morgan  was  making  ready  to  leave,  and 
he  must  say  good-bye  to  his  father  and  friends  in  that 
pleasant  town. 

Nevertheless,  when  they  set  out,  and  turned  their 
faces  northward,  he  stepped  out  with  a  stout  heart,  re- 
membering his  mother's  instruction: 

"Duty  that  we  cheerfully  do, 
Is    ahvays    quickest    through !" 

The  highway  they  took  was  the  one  they  had  travelled 
when  on  their  way  to  Hartford,  and  True's  spirits  rose, 
thinking  he  might  soon  see  his  dear  mother  and  Caesar. 
He  would  have  so  much  to  tell  them  of  his  experiences 
in  the  great  world. 

A  feeling  of  keen  content  and  happiness  swept  over 
him  as  he  cantered  easily  along  the  banks  of  the  stately 
Connecticut  River,  or  stopped  to  graze  on  the  rich  abun- 
dant grass  bordering  the  roadway. 

'Twas  at  turn  of  day  he  felt  a  sweet  nearness  to  his 
old  home,  and  by  a  thousand  familiar  signs  and  senses 
he  knew  they  were  approaching.  Plucking  up  all  his  cour- 
age and  enthusiasm,  he  increased  his  speed  and,  almost 
breathless  with  joy,  stopped  at  the  familiar  barn-door 
and  whinneyed  twice  in  the  old  way. 

There  was  no  response. 


58  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

His  heart  sank ;  a  sudden  anxiety  seized  him. 

Finally  Caesar  appeared  and  purred  a  soft  welcome 
as  he  rubbed  against  his  old  friend's  leg.  True  made 
hurried  enquiries  as  to  his  mother's  welfare,  while  Mas- 
ter Morgan  gave  "halloo !"  for  the  inmates  of  the  house. 

"Alas,"  mewed  the  cat,  sitting  down  to  wash  his  face, 
"things  have  changed  since  you  went  away.  Your 
mother  is  sold  into  the  South " 

"Into  the  South !"  interrupted  True,  but  Caesar  saw 
nothing  exciting  in  that,  and  continued,  placidly : 

— "and  our  master  lies  ill  of  the  fever,  our  mis- 
tress ever  at  his  side  and  no  one  to  notice  me  at  all. 
The  stables  are  lonely,  even  the  rats  and  mice  have 
moved  away  for  lack  of  food,  for  the  garden  and  farm 
are  grown  up  in  weeds."  And  he  wiped  his  paw  sur- 
reptitiously across  his  eye,  curled  himself  up  on  a  beam 
and  fell  asleep. 

The  responsive  tears  filled  True's  eyes,  and  he  would 
have  roused  the  cat  with  other  questions  but  at  the  mo- 
ment Mistress  Whitman  opened  the  kitchen  door.  She 
offered  Master  Morgan  friendly  greeting,  but  when  she 
caught  sight  of  True  she  ran  quickly  out  and  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  Her  old  pet  was  equally  glad  to 
see  her  and  thrust  his  muzzle  into  the  folds  of  the  white 
kerchief  about  her  neck  and  made  little  affectionate 
sounds  of  greeting  in  reply. 

"Come,  True,  little  pony,"  she  whispered,  "he  has  al- 
most grieved  himself  to  death  at  parting  from  you.  The 
very  sight  of  you  will  make  him  better." 

Without  ado,  she  led  the  horse  right  up  the  two  stone 
steps  and  into  the  kitchen  where  once  he  and  his  mother 
had  stolen  soup  out  of  the  pot  which  was  even  now 
swinging  from  the  crane.  As  he  recalled  the  incident 
he  thrust  his  wide  nostrils  forward,  but,  smiling  sadly. 
Mistress  Whitman   drew   him  to   the   inner   door.     His 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  59 

shod  hoofs  made  an  unseemly  stamping,  and  a  feeble 
voice  from  beyond  called : 

''Nay,  wife,  there  must  be  something  wrong !" 

Mistress  Whitman  opened  the  door  wide  and  let  light 
into  the  darkened  room. 

"Instead,  dear  husband,  'tis  very  right,"  she  cried, 
cheerily,  "for  here  is  our  precious  colt  come  to  visit 
with  you/' 

True  found  himself  in  a  small,  bare  room,  standing 
beside  a  cot,  and,  as  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the 
dimness,  he  recognized  his  old  master,  wasted  with  ill- 
ness, lying  helpless  before  him,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his 
eyes  bright  with  fever.  The  affectionate  little  horse 
nosed  among  the  quilts,  trying  to  express  his  joy  at 
seeing  his  old  friend  and  at  the  same  time  his  grief  at 
finding  him  so  weak  and  ill. 

"Wife,"  called  the  sick  man,  presently,  "wife,  fetch 
me  some  maple  sugar  and  do  go  into  the  barn  and  give 
the  colt  all  there  is  left  of  food  there." 

"I  will  pay  you  well,  Alistress,"  said  blaster  Morgan, 
from  the  doorway. 

"Pay  us,  sir?"  said  the  feeble  voice  from  the  cot,  "pay 
us  sir?  For  feeding  True?  Why,  bless  you,  he  is  one 
of  my  own  family.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  taking  pay 
for  food  I  might  give  my  good  wife,  there.  'Twas  only 
misfortune  that  led  me  to  part  with  our  pet.  But  you 
mean  well,  sir,  and  I  bear  you  no  ill-will." 

It  was  thus  that  True  was  loved  by  those  who  under- 
stood his  nature. 

When  at  last  he  was  led  to  the  stable  he  whinneyed 
twice  for  Caesar,  with  leaping  heart. 

"Was  the  one  from  the  South  who  purchased  my 
mother,"  he  asked,  "a  peerless  lily  of  a  maid,  with  crow- 
black  hair  and  stars  for  eyes?     Had  she  palms  like  the 


6o  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

petals  oi  a  wild-rose  and  did  she  smell  like  clover  blos- 
soms after  a  sudden  shower?" 

But  Caesar  had  not  noticed,  he  said,  as  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  doorsill,  and  began  his  inevitable  face-wash- 
ing. 

"Had  not  noticed!  Then  indeed,  it  was  not  she," 
thought  True,  impatient  with  the  cat.  Even  a  cat  would 
have  noticed  Mistress  Lloyd. 

He  spent  a  lonely  night  and  was  relieved  to  set  out 
early  in  the  morning  for  Randolph,  Vermont,  where  Jus- 
tin Morgan  lived ;  the  old  home  was  not  what  it  had 
been  and  any  change  was  better  than  the  atmosphere 
that  hung  over  all  at  the  Whitman  farm. 

Besides,  Justin  Morgan  was  kind  to  him  and  they 
were  good  friends  enough,  and  no  doubt  Randolph  was 
as  good  a  village  as  Springfield.  He  grew  philosophic 
as  they  started  off. 

They  galloped  over  fields  and  through  vague  roads, 
or  walked  under  vast  overhanging  and  dense  forests, 
and  in  time  they  came  in  sight  of  the  bold,  heavily-tim- 
bered Green  Mountains — "The  Footstools  of  Allah,"  his 
mother  had  called  them.  They  gave  the  young  horse 
a  feeling  of  strength  and  confidence ;  he  felt  his  muscles 
expand  at  sight  of  their  bold  outlines  and  he  had  no 
fear  of  their  difiiculties.  From  the  top  of  one  he  gazed 
at  the  view,  entranced,  rearing  his  fine  bony  head  and 
breathing  deeply  of  the  pure  life-giving  air. 

According  to  his  mother's  prophecy  it  would  be  in  the 
shadow  of  these  mountains  that  he,  scion  of  a  hundred 
famous  horses,  would  found  the  new  race,  and  at  first 
sight  of  their  high  broken  sky-line,  he  made  a  resolve  to 
live  such  an  exemplary  life  that  it  would  be  a  standard 
for  that  race  to  come. 

Master  Morgan  was  town-clerk,  school-teacher,  and 
singing  master,  and  went  daily  from  place  to  place  with 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  6i 

books  in  his  saddle  bags ;  it  was  this  life  True  had  come 
to  share.  There  was  a  comfortable  stable  but  no  stable- 
mates,  and  had  they  not  been  constantly  on  the  go,  True 
might  have  been  lonely ;  he  came  to  look  for  their  trips 
with  much  content  and  cantered  along  right  willingly 
from  one  place  to  another. 

For  a  time  he  was  hitched  outside  the  schoolhouse 
door,  but  when  Master  Morgan  found  he  would  come 
at  his  whistle,  he  let  the  little  horse  graze  at  will — the 
bridle  fastened  securely  to  the  saddle — and  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  other  horses  during  school  hours.  He 
knew  well  True  would  not  abuse  this  privilege  and  wan- 
der too  far. 

Thus  the  first  weeks  of  his  stay  at  Randolph  were 
passed. 

As  winter  set  in  his  sensitive  ears  detected,  high  in 
the  air,  a  snapping  of  the  cold  which  disturbed  him  no 
little,  owing  to  his  fear  of  storms.  One  night,  when  this 
sound  was  more  audible  than  it  had  ever  been,  he  pawed 
and  stamped  so  restlessly  that  Justin  Morgan  came  to 
find  out  what  the  matter  was. 

As  the  stable  door  opened  there  flashed  through  it  a 
flood  of  crimson  light.  In  the  North  great  shafts  pierced 
from  the  horizon  high  into  the  centre  of  the  heavens. 
Poor  True  gave  a  moan  of  fright  and  crowded  into  a 
corner  of  his  stall — it  looked  so  like  that  awful  fire  in 
which  old  Piebald  Ceph  had  lost  his  life. 

Master  Morgan  closed  the  door  hurriedly. 

*'Why,  you  poor  horse,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  'tis  nothing 
but  the  Northern  lights.     Steady,  now,  steady." 

'Twas  not  so  much  the  words  as  the  tone  and  the 
gentle  pats  on  his  shoulder  that  pacified  True.  He  felt 
at  once  that  his  master  would  take  care  of  him  and 
calmed  himself  like  a  sensible  animal. 

When  he  was  quieted  Justin  Morgan  climbed  into  the 


62  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

hay-loft  and  down  a  ladder  on  the  other  side  of  the 
barn  rather  than  let  the  light  shine  through  the  door 
again,  which  was  very  considerate  and  no  doubt  True 
was  proportionately  grateful. 

Those  were  wild,  unsettled  days  in  Vermont,  and  tales 
of  Indians  pillaging  and  burning  were  so  fresh  in  the 
minds  of  the  pioneers  that  a  certain  feeling  of  insecurity 
remained,  ready  to  be  roused  into  action  any  minute. 
The  forests  were  dense  and  dark,  the  farms  scattered 
and  lonely  and  the  life  primitive.  Neighbors  depended 
solely  upon  each  other  for  assistance  in  times  of  trouble 
or  danger. 

Dame  Margery  Griswold — daughter  of  a  friendly  In- 
dian chief,  and  wife  of  a  white  settler — was  one  of  the 
fine  and  noble  characters  of  Randolph.  Wise  in  the 
ways  of  medicines  and  herb-teas,  she  was  constantly 
called  upon  to  administer  to  the  sick,  and  never  failed  to 
respond,  rain  or  shine,  snow  or  sleet. 

One  cold,  blustery  night  there  came  a  need  for  her  to 
go  across  the  mountain  to  see  a  child  lying  sick  of  a 
fever. 

When  she  called  upon  her  old  white  mare  she  was  met 
by  a  flat  refusal;  the  poor  old  nag  was  crippled  with 
rheumatism  and  could  not  rise  from  her  stable  floor 
where  she  lay  on  her  bedding  of  dried  leaves. 

Dame  Margery  therefore  consulted  Uncle  Peter  Ed- 
son,  to  whom  all  turned  for  advice,  he  being  the  oldest 
man  in  the  town  and  a  Deacon  in  the  church. 

Not  long  after  this  Master  Morgan  was  awakened  by 
a  smart  rapping  on  his  door. 

"Who's  there?"  he  called,   sleepily. 

"Wake,  Friend  Justin,"  cried  Uncle  Peter,  for  'twas 
he.  "Dame  Margery  would  borrow  your  horse  Figure 
for  the  night.     She  is  sent  for  to  doctor  a  sick  child." 

"  'Tis  a  raw  night  for  the  dame,  no  less  my  horse," 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  63 

answered  Morgan,  lifting  the  latch  and  inviting  the  old 
man  in  out  of  the  cold.  The  ever-smouldering  back-log 
kept  the  fire  ready  to  blow  into  a  blaze  any  time  and 
Justin  Morgan,  not  disturbing  his  family,  set  about  fan- 
ning it  with  a  large,  turkey-tail  fan.  "I  do  not  wish  to 
send  my  horse  out  on  such  a  night.  We've  but  just  got 
in  ourselves  and  are  fagged,"  he  added. 

The  fire  blazed  and  was  soon  roaring  up  the  chimney 
as  the  lightwood  caught  and  the  pine-knots  flamed ;  then 
Master  Morgan  straightened  himself. 

"By  the  Constitution  of  these  United  States,''  cried  the 
old  man,  "  'tis  not  a  time  to  think  of  brute-beasts.  I 
tell  you  a  huinan  lies  ill  and  needs  the  Dame.  Come, 
come,  have  done,  and  let  me  fetch  the  horse  from  the 
stable !" 

But  Master  Morgan  still  hesitated,  as  he  hung  the 
turkey-tail  back  in  place  beside  the  high  mantel. 

"Come,  I  say,"  thundered  the  old  man,  whom  every- 
one obeyed,  ''get  the  horse  out,  sir,  or  'twill  be  the  worse 
for  you  when  the  neighbors  find  you  consider  your  ani- 
mal before  a  human  being." 

Such  threats  and  language  could  not  be  withstood,  and 
Master  IMorgan,  ever  willing  to  be  of  service  to  a  fel- 
low being,  and  only  reluctant  on  account  of  the  tired 
horse,  took  his  lanthorn  from  the  mantel-shelf  and  went 
out. 

As  soon  as  True  left  the  protection  of  his  stable  he 
felt  a  storm  brewing,  not  so  far  away  either  ;  he  hoped  it 
would  not  break  before  his  return,  yet  not  knowing 
where  he  was  going. 

Uncle  Peter  rode  him  over  to  Dame  Margery's,  who, 
when  she  came  out,  was  so  bundled  up  in  bearskins  that 
had  she  not  spoken  at  once  True  might  have  been  star- 
tled.    Throwing  her  bags  across  the  saddle  and  bidding 


64  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Uncle  Peter  a  cheery  good-night  she  set  out  on  her  er- 
rand. 

It  was  a  cruel  night,  clouds  large  and  low  swept  over 
the  moon's  face  and  piled  themselves  up  along  the  horizon 
like  banks  of  snow.  Dame  Margery  spoke  soothingly 
and  blithely  to  the  horse  which  partly  reconciled  him  to 
the  dire  cold. 

When  they  arrived  at  their  destination  Margery  went 
into  the  hut  and  a  young  man  came  out  to  throw  a  fur 
square  over  True's  shivering  back  and  lead  him  out  of 
the  wind. 

Hours  passed.  Inside  the  hut  a  child  lay  on  a  pallet  on 
the  floor ;  Margery  knelt  beside  it.  Finally  she  withdrew 
her  arm  from  beneath  the  little  head  very  gently  and 
rose  to  her  full,  lean  height.  The  white-faced,  dry-eyed 
mother  stood  near — undemonstrative  as  Vermont  women 
are  apt  to  be  but  none  the  less  grateful  for  all  their  still- 
ness. 

She  followed  Margery  to  the  door  as  the  latter  stepped 
out  into  the  bitter  night. 

"Looks  like  a  storm,"  Margery  said,  over  her  shoul- 
der. *'See  that  you  don't  forget  the  pleurisy-root  tea — 
and  have  it  piping  hot !" 

''Best  tarry  the  night,"  urged  the  woman,  hospitably, 
from  the  door  where  she  stood,  screening  a  sputtering 
dip  from  the  wind  with  her  hand. 

"Nay,  nay,  yet  I  give  you  thanks,"  answered  Mar- 
gery, gaily.  "I  am  not  afraid  of  storms ;  I  was  born  in 
one  and  brought  up  in  a  wigwam !" 

She  pulled  the  covering  from  True's  back  and 
mounted. 

They  started  just  as  a  veil  of  blinding  snow  fell  full 
in  their  faces — and  it  fell  so  fast  the  ground  was  soon 
white. 

The  vicious  wind,   like  an  unchained   demon,   caught 


FOUNDER   OF   HIS    RACE  65 

Trne's  thick  black  mane  and  blew  it  upwards,  giving  him 
a  spasm  of  cold  on  his  neck.  He  shivered.  A  moan 
swept  through  the  hemlock  boughs,  they  bent  before  the 
wind.  Margery  moistened  the  end  of  her  finger  and  held 
it  up,  a  thin  skin  of  ice  formed  on  its  front. 

Beaten  by  the  wind  and  blinded  by  the  snow  his  old 
storm-terror  came  over  the  horse,  he  wheeled  and  let  the 
biting  blast  beat  against  his  haunches — head  down  and 
heavy  black  tail  against  the  on  coming  snow  and  numb- 
ing cold. 

Once  or  twice  he  sniffed,  as  if  in  consultation  with  his 
rider,  but  as  she  offered  no  advice,  he  sprang  to  the 
shelter  of  a  clump  of  firs  and  the  harsh  wind  whistled 
fiercely  on. 

Margery  slid  from  the  saddle  and  with  stiff  but  deft 
hands  she  caught  True's  foot  and  threw  him,  Indian- 
fashion,  to  the  ground.  Then  she  broke  huge  branches 
of  hemlock  and  piled  them  up  as  a  brake  against  the 
snow,  crouching  close  to  the  willing  body  of  the  now 
motionless  horse.  The  wind,  making  a  grating  sound, 
pressed  hard  against  their  brake  but  it  did  not  give,  and 
trembling  with  cold  the  two  waited  for  the  storm  to  pass. 
The  snow  fell  and  fell;  like  knives  the  icy  splinters 
lashed  their  eyelids  and  swirled  on,  tossing  wave  upon 
wave  of  snow  on  their  protection  of  boughs  and  mound- 
ing it  almost  over  them. 

A  large  branch,  heavy  with  the  weight  of  ice  and 
sleet,  snapped  from  a  tree  near  by  and  crashed  to  the 
ground,  but  they  did  not  stir. 

Angry  mutterings  came  to  t-hem  through  the  evergreen 
branches  and  shrieked  off  over  the  mountains  like  wind- 
tossed  spirits.  Through  the  long  hours  they  made  hardly 
a  movement. 

At  last  the  darkness  was  over  and  from  out  the  place 
where  it  went  the  sun  came,  flashing  long  rays  of  gold 


66  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

on  trees  draped  with  icicles  and  a  world  carpeted  with 
snow,  sparkling  and  gleaming,  dazzling  their  eyes  with 
its  glitter. 

A  strange  calm  had  fallen  on  the  wind-swept  scene 
when  they  rose  and  shook  themselves,  stiff  with  cold,  to 
set  off  homeward.  Over  all  the  glistening  landscape 
hung  a  deep-blue   sky,   calm,  serene. 

It  was  his  hardihood  that  saved  the  little  horse,  but 
good  Dame  Margery  Griswold  caught  her  death  that 
night  while  the  child  she  braved  the  storm  to  save  lived 
on  to  bless  her  name. 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  ^y 


CHAPTER  IX. 
true's  first  hard  work,  and  how  he  accomplished  it. 

upon  a  hill  at  Randolph  Centre  perched  a  little  store 
where  the  farmers  gathered  in  cold  weather  to  warm 
themselves  with  Medford  rum,  a  common  enough  drink 
in  those  days  to  express  lavish  opinions  as  to  political 
affairs  of  the  young  nation,  so  lately  separated  from  her 
Mother  Country,  or  to  discuss  more  intimate  local  busi- 
ness. 

Master  Morgan  drank  little,  being  more  inclined  to 
quiet  study  than  sociability,  but  his  way  led  past  the 
store  and  he  often  stopped  to  hear  the  news.  There 
were  no  newspapers  in  those  days,  and  all  news  came  by 
letter  or  word-of-mouth  of  the  stage-drivers. 

Whilst  waiting  outside  for  his  owner  True  made 
pleasant  acquaintances  among  the  horses  who  also  stood 
awaiting  their  riders. 

A  grey  mare,  very  old,  very  wise  and  very  strong  in 
her  convictions,  whom  he  often  met,  tol  1  him  many 
mane-raising  stories  of  Indian  days — so  recentlv  passed 
through — and  the  more  his  wide-set  ears  pointed  and 
the  more  his  dark  prominent  eyes  grew  eager  the  better 
the  old  pioneer  liked  it. 

One  of  her  strange  tales  was  how  she  discovered  her 
master.  Experience  Davis,  after  he  returned  from  his 
two  years'  captivity  with  the  Indians. 

One  day,  she  told  True,  as  she  stood  quietly  near 
Davis'  hut,  nibbling  lazily  among  the  stumps  and  stones 


68  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

of  the  new-cleared  field  to  get  the  last  blades  of  grass  and 
weeds,  she  heard  a  frightful  sound  approaching. 

She  thrilled  with  horror! 

Davis,  hoeing,  hard  by,  also  heard  and  dashed  franti- 
cally into  his  hut,  closing  the  door  and  barring  it  se- 
curely— right  well  did  everyone  of  the  time  know  what 
those  dreadful  war-whoops  and  blood-curdling  yells  fore- 
boded ! 

Old  Grey  threw  back  her  head  and  snififed  for  a  better 
scent  with  red,  comprehending  nostrils.  Then,  as  a 
band  of  painted,  half-naked  savages,  brandishing  their 
tomahawks,  rushed  from  the  forest,  she  snorted  and  fled 
— her  sparse  tail  high  in  the  air,  her  heart  stricken  with 
fear. 

On  an  eminence  afar,  she  stopped  and  saw  the 
wretches  burst  open  the  hut-door  and  drag  her  struggling 
master  out.  Binding  him  tightly,  and  securing  every- 
thing that  might  be  of  use,  they  set  fire  to  the  hut  and 
disappeared  into  the  forest  with  war-whoops,  taking 
Davis  with  them. 

Old  Grey  waited  sadly  on  the  river-bank  until  hunger 
and  loneliness  induced  her  to  return.  Alas,  the  ruin  that 
met  her  eyes ! 

A  neighbor  who  had  escaped  the  massacre  of  that  day 
found  her,  wandering  about  in  despair,  and,  thinking 
his  friend  Experience  must  have  been  burned  in  his 
hut  or  scalped,  took  the  old  mare  to  share  such  life  as 
the  pioneers  of  that  day  had  to  endure.  When  he  went 
to  live  in  Hanover,  Old  Grey  went  along,  too. 

One  fine  sunny  day  two  years  later,  as  she  stood 
hitched  in  the  old  Meeting  House  yard,  she  felt  a  thrill, 
her  heart  began  suddenly  to  beat  faster,  she  looked 
around,  disturbed  in  spirit  for  some  strange,  unknown 
reason. 

At  last  she  saw  a  man  crossing  the  yard,  and  a  mo- 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  69 

ment  later  recognized  her  old  friend  Experience  Davis ! 

Fearing-  he  would  pass  without  seeing  her,  she  whin- 
neyed,  once-and-a-half,  as  had  been  her  wont. 

Davis  stopped,  glanced  about,  mystified,  and  was  going 
on  when  she  repeated  her  greeting,  anxiously.  At  that 
he  looked  at  her,  sharply  and  curiously.  Involuntarily 
he  answered,  with  his  old  famiHar  whistle. 

At  sound  of  this  Old  Grey  was  so  overcome  with  joy 
that  she  snapped  her  hitch-rein  with  a  quick  jerk,  and 
trotted  right  up  to  him ! 

He  was  so  pale  and  thin  from  long  captivity  that  she 
would  hardly  have  known  him  by  sight,  alone ;  it  was 
his  scent  that  convinced  her  infallible  nostrils  that  he  was 
really  her  once  ruddy  and  strong  master. 

Davis  took  her  back  to  the  old  place  where  he  had 
just  rebuilt  the  hut  and  stable  and  there  they  had  lived 
happily  together  ever  since. 

On  the  Highway  from  Boston  to  Canada,  stood  Bene- 
dict's Tavern,  and  here  True  often  met  distinguished 
horses  on  their  way  to  or  from  the  race  course  on  The 
Plains  of  Abraham,  in  Quebec,  where  men  sent  their 
horses  from  great  distances  to  test  their  speed  against 
other  horses.  There  were  then,  in  the  United  States  of 
America,  no  race-courses. 

It  was  at  this  stage-house,  no  doubt,  that  in  True  was 
first  born  that  racing  spirit,  of  which  nothing  came  for 
a  long  time. 

In  the  late  winter  of  his  first  year  at  Randolph,  Mas- 
ter Morgan  fell  ill  with  lung-trouble ;  he  had  to  give 
up  his  teaching  and  singing  and,  finding  he  could  not 
afford  to  keep  a  horse,  hired  True  out  to  one  Robert 
Evans,  a  farmer  and  hunter,  soHd  as  granite,  and  kindly, 
to  clear  fifteen  acres  of  heavv-timbered  land. 


70  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

For  this  task  Evans  agreed  to  pay  Morgan  fifteen  dol- 
lars and  to  feed  the  horse. 

Evans,  big  chinned  and  grey  eyed,  was  a  lean  and 
sinewy  frontiersman,  poor  and  hard-working,  with  a 
large  family,  and  True  knew,  intuitively,  that  his  days 
of  pleasant  jaunting  about  the  country  under  the  saddle 
were  over.  However,  with  that  indomitable  courage, 
which  characterizes  his  descendants  to  this  day,  he  set 
about  the  difficult  task  and  by  the  first  of  June  it  was 
finished,  without  help  from  any  other  horse. '^"' 

He  never  regretted  this  work  for  it  developed  his 
chest  and  leg  muscles  early  in  life,  muscles,  the  like  of 
which  had  not  been  known  before  in  a  horse  of  his 
size. 

The  setting  of  many  of  True's  most  interesting  expe- 
riences and  exciting  adventures  at  this  period  of  his  life, 
was  Chase's  Mill.  This  busy  spot  was  situated  on  the 
wooded  bank  of  the  White  River,  as  pretty  a  bit  of 
Vermont  as  one  could  find  in  a  day's  journey.  The 
river  sparkled  and  laughed  between  green  banks  and 
leaped  merrily  over  the  mill-wheel ;  spruce  and  firs  thrust 
thirsty  feet  deep  down  in  the  water  and  reared  tall  heads 
high  into  the  upper  air  to  catch  the  sun's  rays;  perfume 
of  wild  flowers  loaded  the  breeze;  birds  sang  all  day, 
and  white  stemmed  birches  guarded  the  nearby  forest 
like  soldiers  standing  in  a  row,  straight  and  firm. 

Miller  Qiase  plied  an  honest  trade  in  Medford  rum 
while  the  farmers  waited  for  the  wobbly  stones  to  grind 
their  corn  or  the  saws  to  saw  their  logs.  Horses  and 
oxen  grazed  at  hand,  taking  the  opportunity  to  enjoy 
the  delicious  grass  growing  so  abundantly  in  the  rich, 
fertile  valley. 

One  day  True  chanced  to  remark  upon  this  grass  to 
his  friend  Old  Grey. 

*  Morgan  Horses,  Linsley,  page  136. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  71 

"Know  you  not,"  she  asked,  astonished  at  his  youth- 
ful ignorance,  "how  it  came  to  be  broadcast  here?" 

"Not  I !"  whinneyed  True.  Suffice  it  that  he  was  en- 
joying its  satisfying  plentifulness  to  the  fullest  after  his 
hard  day  in  the  plow. 

And  she  told  him. 

After  the  massacre,  in  which  her  master,  Experience 
Davis,  had  been  captured,  in  plundering  Zadock  Steele's 
hut,  before  burning  it,  an  Indian  found  a  sack  of  valu- 
able grass-seed.  He  put  it  over  his  shoulder  and  started 
ofif  down  the  valley. 

After  a  while  he  noticed,  vaguely,  that  his  load,  un- 
like the  usual  manner  of  loads,  became  lighter  the 
farther  he  travelled,  but  he  stupidly  did  not  think  to 
glance  over  his  shoulder  at  his  burden. 

When  he  reached  Dog  River  there  was  not  a  grass-seed 
left  in  the  sack ! 

Through  a  tiny  hole  in  the  bag  he  had,  unintention- 
ally, sown  this  wonderful  seed  all  the  way  from  Ran- 
dolph, and  for  years  it  grew  up,  unmowed,  uneaten,  and 
almost  man-high,  to  make  the  White  River  Valley  fam- 
ous, and  supply  grass  and  hay  for  farmers  and  horses. 


^2  JUSTIN    MORGAN 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  WHICH   ''true"  becomes  ''jUSTIN   MORGAN." 

Once  or  twice  a  week  it  was  the  custom  among  the 
farmers,  waiting  at  Chase's  Mill,  to  pass  the  time  test- 
ing their  strength  or  that  of  their  horses.  It  was  health- 
ful sport  and  kept  them  and  their  beasts  in  trim. 
.  Many  were  the  jugs  of  Medford  rum  consumed  on 
these  occasions,  and  anyone  having  a  horse  to  try,  or  a 
new  test  of  strength  for  the  men,  was  welcomed. 

Running  their  horses  short  distances  for  small  stakes 
came  to  be  very  popular."  A  course  of  eighty  rods  was 
measured,  starting  at  the  mill  and  extending  along  the 
highway;  a  line  was  drawn  across  the  road,  called  a 
''scratch,"  the  horses  were  ranged  in  a  row,  and  at  the 
drop  of  a  hat  away  they  went,  cheered  by  the  crowd. 

It  so  happened  that  Evans  and  True,  who  never  fin- 
ished their  work  until  dusk,  were  rarely  at  these  tests. 
Evans,  himself,  was  too  tired  to  join  in  the  sports,  but 
True  often  thought  he  would  like  to  try  his  strength 
against  the  larger,  heavier  horses. 

One  day,  coming  along  the  River  Road  to  the  mill, 
his  heavy  farm-harness  and  tug-chains  still  dangling  on 
True,  they  passed  Master  Justin  Morgan — he  stood  under 
a  maple  tree  and  was  lilting  an  old  French  song  learned 
from  the  Canadian  lumbermen,  called  "A  la  Claire  Fon- 
taine." True  and  Evans  paused  to  listen.  Everyone 
liked  Master  Morgan  for  his  sweet  voice  and  gentle 
manners. 

*  Morgan  Horses,  Linsley,  page   133. 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  73 

When  the  song  was  finished  Evans  gave  the  singer 
neighborly  greeting  and  strode  on  to  the  mill,  True  fol- 
lowing him,  more  like  a  dog  than  a  horse. 

The  sun  was  gone  and  the  evening  shadows  were  be- 
ginning to  fall,  but  tliere  were  still  lingering  along  the 
horizon  long  streaks  of  crimson  and  gold  that  tinged 
the  river  with  color. 

In  evident  discussion,  near  a  log  at  the  mill,  stood  a 
group  of  farmers. 

Evans  and  True  approached. 

Nathan  Nye,  friendly  and  jovial,  whittling  a  birch 
stick,  looked  up  as  Evans  said :  ''How  be  ye  all  ?" 

*'Why  not  give  Bob's  horse  a  show?"  he  asked,  a 
twinkle  in  his  keen  blue  eyes,  a  smile  brightening  his 
genial  face. 

Horses  and  oxen  were  hitched  to  the  limbs  of  trees 
or  grazed  near  at  hand,  quite  without  interest  in  what- 
ever was  taking  place.  Sledges  and  wagons  rested  their 
shafts  on  the  ground,  seeming  to  wait  patiently. 

"Is  it  a  pulling  bee?"  asked  Evans,  leaning  against 
True's  side. 

''Yaas,  but  I  guess  it's  abeout  over,  now,"  drawled  a 
lank  youth,  coming  out  of  the  mill  with  a  sack  of  meal 
on  his  shoulder. 

''Anybody  but  you  in  a  hurry  to  be  going  home- 
along?"  questioned  Nye,  crushingly. 

The  youth  did  not  answer,  but  went  on  to  his  sledge. 

"There's  a  jug  of  Medford  rum  in  the  store  for  the 
owner  of  the  horse  that  can  get  that  there  log  on  my  run- 
way this  evening,"  explained  Miher  Chase  to  Evans. 

"Now  I  want  to  know !"  exclaimed  Evans,  carelessly, 
"Why  didn't  you  say  so  before?  You  seem  to  be  mak- 
ing quite  a  chore  of  a  very  simple  thing;  I'll  just  have 
my  little  horse  do  it  for  you  in  a  jifify !" 

A  shout  of  derisive  laughter  greeted  his  remark. 


74  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

''Now  do  tell !"  cried  Hiram  Sage,  sarcastically. 

"That  pony  pull  a  log  my  Jim  refused?"  scoffed  an- 
other. 

''My  'pony,'  as  you  call  him,"  laughed  Evans,  good- 
naturedly,  "has  never  refused  me  yet."  He  placed  his 
arm  over  True's  neck ;  the  horse  rattled  his  chains  music- 
ally, and  reached  for  a  low-handing  bough. 

"Work  is  play  for  this  animal,"  Evans  went  on. 
"We've  been  in  the  logging-field  all  day,  but  that  don't 
make  a  mite  o'  difference  to  the  Morgan  horse.  Come, 
show  us  your  log!" 

True  shook  himself  again  and  went  on  chewing  leaves. 

"Why,  that  beast's  naught  but  a  colt!"  said  Jim's 
owner,  scornfully. 

"Colt  or  no,  he's  the  finest  bit  o'  horse-flesh  this  side 
of  The  Plains  of  Abraham !"  Evans  contended,  hotly. 
"Give  him  his  head  and  he  goes  like  a  shot  and  doesn't 
pull  an  ounce,  and  as  for  drawing  a  load — when  this 
horse  starts,  something  s  got  to  come !  That  is,"  he 
added  with  a  laugh,  "as  long  as  the  tugs  last!" 

"Well,  stop  your  bragging,"  said  the  sarcastic  Hiram ; 
"actions  speak  louder  than  words.  Hitch  him  up  that 
there  'something'  and  let  us  see  it  'come'." 

Miller  Chase  stepped  forward,  hospitably. 

"First  come  in,  men,  and  fix  up  your  bets  over  a  mug," 
he  said. 

They  went  inside  the  shop,  all  talking  at  once,  and 
left  True  nibbling  among  the  grasses  and  weeds.  When 
they  had  disappeared  he  glanced  at  the  log  which  the 
other  horses  had  "refused" — horses  much  larger  and 
heavier  than  he.  The  opportunity  he  had  hoped  for 
had  come ! 

"But  can  I  do  it?"  he  asked  himself. 

The  answer  was,  he  could,  and  zvoiild. 

He  was  spurred  to  the  greatest  effort  of  his  life  by 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  75 

the  taunt  that  he  was  a  ''pony."  At  any  rate  he  was  over 
fourteen  hands  and  weighed  nine  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds ! 

"As  I  understand  it,"  Evans  was  saying,  as  the  men 
came  out  of  the  shop,  "the  agreement  is  that  my  horse 
has  got  to  pull  that  big  log  ten  rods  onto  the  logway, 
in  three  pulls,  or  I  lose?" 

"That's  the  idea,  exactly,"  assented  Miller  Chase. 

Evans  took  hold  of  True's  bridle  confidently,  and  led 
him  to  the  enormous  log,  where  he  fastened  the  tugs 
properly.  Then  he  stepped  one  side  and  looked  the 
young  horse  straight  in  the  eye. 

True  returned  his  look — they  might  almost  have  been 
said  to  have  exchanged  a  wink. 

At  this  thought,  Evans  shouted  with  laughter. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  when  he  could  speak  seriously, 
"I  am  ashamed  to  ask  my  horse  to  pull  a  little  weight 
like  that  on  a  test — couldn't  two  or  three  of  you  get  on 
and  ride?" 

Then  Evans  was  sure  he  saw  a  twinkle  in  True's  eye. 

A  loud  laugh  greeted  the  proposal. 

"But,  man,  that  there's  a  dead  lift !''  expostulated  the 
miller. 

"Well,  mine's  a  live  horse,"  Evans  cried,  with  a  grin. 
"Get  on  there !  Justin  Morgan's  waitin'  for  to  take 
you  to  drive !'' 

From  this  day  the  young  horse  was  called  Justin  Mor- 
gan s.  It  was  an  easy  transition  to  drop  the  possessive 
"s,"  after  a  while,  and  call  him  "Justin  Morgan." 

With  much  hilarity  three  men  climbed  up  on  the  log. 

By  this  time  darkness  had  fallen  and  Master  Chase 
ran  to  get  his  lanthorn,  swinging  it  back  and  forth,  as  he 
returned. 

"Mind  you  don't  fall  off,"  Evans  warned  the  men. 
"  'Something'  is  about  to  'come'." 


76  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

And  "something"  did ! 

Justin  Morgan's  horse  gathered  himself  together,  al- 
most crouching,  and  waited  for  the  word  to  start.  When 
it  was  given,  his  chest-muscles  strained,  his  wide  nostrils 
were  scarlet  and  dilated,  and  this  scion  of  Arabia's  proud 
breed  moved  off  as  if  inspired  by  Allah  himself  for  an 
almost  miraculous  feat. 

The  bystanders,  craning  their  necks  to  see,  ran  along- 
side ;  the  men,  perched  on  the  log,  fell  off  as  it  rocked 
from  side  to  side,  and  then  the  young  horse  paused  for 
breath — or  to  recover  his  strength. 

Utter  silence  was  over  all.    There  was  no  jeering  now. 

The  second  pull  landed  the  log  on  the  logway,  and  the 
amazed  men  broke  into  the  wildest  cheers  ever  heard  at 
Chase's  Mill.* 


*  Morgan  Horses,  Linsley,  page  137. 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  ^j 


CHAPTER   XL 

MORGAN    TRIES     CONCLUSIONS     WITH     THE     COXCOMB    AND 
HIS  FRIENDS. 

After  his  triumph  at  Chase's  Mill,  the  IMorgan  and 
Evans  often  stopped  there  on  their  way  home  from  work. 

A  welcome  more  cordial  than  usual  greeted  them  one 
sweet  and  tranquil  afternoon.  Cowbells  tinkled  in  the 
distance,  coming  home  along  the  River  Road  for  the 
milking  hour,  and  the  chains  of  Morgan's  harness  jangled 
an  echo  from  his  sides.  The  leather  parts  of  this  harness 
were  mended  here  and  there  with  bits  of  white  string, 
and  his  usually  glossy,  short  hair  was  rough  and  lacked 
care.  He  was  not  pretty,  but  always  bold  and  fearless 
in  his  style  of  movement. 

As  was  his  custom,  Nathan  Nye  sat  whittling  his  birch 
stick  into  useless  shavings. 

"Let  the  Morgan  see  if  it's  in  him  to  do  it!"  he  cried 
to  Evans. 

''What's  the  game  to-day?"  asked  Evans,  cheerfully. 

With  a  backward  nod  and  a  frown  Nye  indicated  three 
strangers  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  little  shop. 

"Travellers  from  over  to  Benedict's,"  he  explained, 
in  an  undertone.  ''They  heard  about  our  horse  and 
have  come  to  try  out  against  him.  Lve  got  a  sneaking 
idea  that  we  can  take  the  starch  out  o'  their  biled  shirts 
for  'em !"  He  shut  his  knife  with  a  determined  click 
and  rose.  "They  claim  size  is  necessary  for  speed  and 
endurance,"  he  went  on  ;  "they  are  just  from  The  Plains 
of  Abraham ;  on  their  way  back  to  New  York ;  came  yes- 


78  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

terday  and  hearing  at  the  stage-house  that  we  had  some- 
thing of  a  horse  in  these  parts  staid  over  to-day  to 
satisfy  their  curiosity." 

"We'll  satisfy  it !''  laughed  Evans,  confidently. 

Three  strange  horses  stood  hitched  near  by,  and  Evans 
went  to  take  a  look  at  them,  as  if  casually.  The  Mor- 
gan followed,  as  a  faithful  dog  might,  extending  his 
nostrils  as  he  caught  sight  of  a  cloak  thrown  over  one 
of  the  saddles.  He  caught  the  scent  and  blew  his  breath 
on  it  in  a  disgusted  way.  He  had  recognized  the  odor 
of  the  Coxcomb,  Master  Knickerbocker ! 

Nye  had  also  followed  Evans. 

"Vd  just  like  to  show  these  New  York  dandies  the 
sort  of  horses  we  can  raise  in  Vermont,"  he  said,  ap- 
parently oblivious  of  the  fact  that  the  best  and  first  part 
of  True's  raising  had  been  done  in  Massachusetts.  "Even 
if  we  can't  afford  to  use  all  that  ody  cologne,  and  wear 
frills  on  our  shirt  fronts.  They  say  these  two  horses 
were  bred  on  the  Winooski  at  the  Ethan  Allen  farm,  but 
this  one" — he  indicated  the  horses  as  he  spoke — "is  from 
down  New  York  way." 

Evans  walked  around  and  looked  at  them  critically. 

''Good  horses,  all  of  them,"  he  remarked,  with  appre- 
ciation, "and  fresh." 

"Rested  all  night  at  the  Inn,"  Nye  corroberated,  re- 
sentfully. 

The  Morgan  was  working  himself  up  over  the  scent 
of  the  cloak — any  test  for  him  against  the  horse  on  whose 
saddle  it  lay  was  as  good  as  won  already.  He  had  an 
intuition  that  Mistress  Lloyd  would  like  him  to  defeat 
the  Coxcomb,  whose  horse  was  a  fretful,  vicious  animal 
— handsome  enough,  it  was  true,  and  with  many  races 
to  his  credit — but  he  was  too  full  of  conceit  and  self- 
confidence  to  please  Morgan. 

The  Ethan  Allen  horses  were  quieter  and  gave   the 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  79 

impression  of  reserve  power.  All  three  were  stylish 
and  well  cared  for,  while  Morgan  was  ungroomed  and 
neglected ;  there  were  a  few  burrs  in  his  heavy  black 
tail,  too,  which  seemed  to  strike  the  New  Yorkers  as 
extremely  amusing.  The  ^Morgan,  himself,  however, 
had  never  seen  anything  very  comical  about  a  mere 
cockle-burr,  and  was  nettled  at  their  foolish  remarks  and 
jeers. 

''Yes,"  repeated  Nye,  ''fresh  as  flowers,  and  fed  to  the 
top-notch.  Those  men  have  a  fine  plan  to  take  us  down 
a  peg  or  two." 

"Is  it  a  clean,  fair  race,  think  you?"  asked  Evans, 
under  his  breath. 

"It's  no  clean  and  no  fair  race,"  Nye  gave  reply,  in- 
dignantly, and  in  the  same  low,  resentful  tone  he  added,* 
"they  want  our  horse  to  run  three  separate  races,  one 
after  the  other,  and  him  all  tuckered  out  with  a  day's 
plowing." 

"It  ain't  fair,"  agreed  Evans,  vehemently.  "My  horse 
ain't  only  tired,  but  my  saddle  and  bridle,  that  I  left 
over  here  t'other  day,  ain't  light  and  easy  like  theirs. 
It  ain't  reasonable.  .  .  .  Not  but  what  Morgan  can 
do  it,"  he  added,  quickly,  "but  it's  hard  on  him." 

"Of  course  he  can  do  it,"  assented  Nye,  confidently. 
"They  say  we've  got  to  show  'em — or  shut  up  our  brag- 
ging over  to  Benedict's — with  the  word  being  passed  on 
from  North  to  South,  as  never  was !" 

"All  right,"  said  Evans.  "We'll  show  'em.  As  long 
as  Morgan's  alive  we  ain't  got  no  cause  to  shut  up  brag- 
ging." 

"Every  man  to  ride  his  ow^n  horse,"  Nye  further  ex- 
plained. 

"My  legs  are  a  leetle  mite  too  long  to  be  pretty," 
laughed  Evans.      "But  if  Morgan  can  stand  it,  I  can." 

*  Morgan  Horses,  Linsley,  page  137. 


8o  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

True  heard  all  this  as  he  stood  cropping  grass  near  at 
hand.  When  they  ceased  speaking  he  came  and  rubbed 
his  nose  on  Evans'  shoulder  reassuringly,  as  he  often  did 
in  his  affectionate,  demonstrative  way. 

At  this  moment  the  strangers  joined  them,  and  True 
recognized  the  Coxcomb  as  he  swaggered  forward,  tap- 
ping his  tall  boots  with  a  beautiful  riding  whip.  Spurs 
gleamed  on  his  heels  and  his  insolent  manner  was  in 
strong  contrast  to  the  sim.ple  bearing  of  the  straight- 
forward farmer's. 

At  a  glance,  Morgan  had  seen  it  would  be  no  great 
feat  to  beat  the  Ethan  Allen  horses,  but  he  also  saw 
with  the  same  quick  glance  that  the  New  York  horse 
was  to  be  reckoned  with ;  he  was  evidently  accustomed 
to  successes  on  the  course. 

When  the  races  were  arranged,  Evans  removed  the 
dangling  plow-harness  from  True's  back.  At  sight  of 
him  without  it  the  strangers  seemed  to  be  more  amused 
than  ever.    Their  contemptuous  remarks  affronted  Evans. 

'Tix  up  your  bets,"  he  called  out  a  moment  later,  im- 
patiently, seeing  how  uncomfortable  True  was  with  his 
cumbersome  saddle  and  coarse  bit.  'T  want  to  get  home- 
along." 

He  spoke  as  if  he  were  so  sure  of  winning  that  it  was 
but  the  question  of  a  moment  or  so. 

His  tone  irritated  the  Coxcomb.      He  came  forward. 

''Odd  brute  that,"  he  sneered,  ''to  put  against  horses 
that  have  won  on  The  Plains  of  Abraham.  But  I  sup- 
pose the  fun  of  the  races  will  make  up  to  you  for  your 
losses.      Why,  this  is  nothing  but  a  Canadian  scrub !" 

True  shook  himself  in  disgust.  To  be  called  a  strid- 
ing Canadian.  A  horse  who  travels  with  purposed  ex- 
ertion, while  he  glided  over  the  ground  with  scarce  an 
effort.  A  Canadian  scrub,  indeed,  a  horse  whose  thick 
nostrils  speak  of  low  birth  and  whose  flat  sides  and  thick 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  8i 

hair  seem  made  for  much  cold  and  beating ;  and  he,  with 
the  blood  of  the  South  in  his  veins! 

It  was  too  much  for  Evans. 

"This  is  no  Canadian,"  he  contradicted,  shortly ;  "this 
horse  is  a  Thoroughbred." 

The  Coxcomb  laughed  derisively,  and  flicked  his  boot. 

"None  the  less,  the  brute  would  answer  to  the  order 
'Marches  done!'  .  .  .  Not  so,  my  friend?"  He 
struck  True  on  the  side  with  his  keen  whip,  making  him 
spring  forward. 

"What  said  I  ?"  he  scoffed  with  a  shrug.  "The  horse 
does  not  lie  about  his  pedigree." 

Ignoring  the  insulting  inference,  Evans  quieted  Mor- 
gan with  a  caress  and  cried: 

"For  shame,  sir !  Would  you  have  me  strike  your 
horse  thus?" 

But  Master  Knickerbocker  had  moved  away,  laughing 
insolently. 

The  course  was  measured,  the  scratch  drawn  and 
Nathan  Nye  stood  ready  to  drop  the  hat.  Several  of  the 
men  went  to  the  finish-line  to  witness  and  testify  to  the 
result  of  the  three  races. 

The  course  faced  the  east,  so  that  the  eyes  of  the 
horses  and  their  riders  were  turned  from  the  sunset  glow 
which  was  then  illumining  the  world.  The  road  was 
smooth,  and  a  recent  rain  had  laid  the  dust;  the  condi- 
tions were  better  than  usual.  The  pungent  odor  of  new- 
sawn  lumber  filled  the  air  and  the  chirping  of  birds  from 
the  nearby  forest  made  sweet  music. 

One  of  the  Ethan  Allen  hor&es  walked  briskly  forward 
under  his  rider,  while  the  Morgan  joined  him  in  the 
friendly  way  which  was  his  natural  manner  towards  all 
animals.  They  waited  pleasantly,  yet  spiritedly,  for  the 
drop  of  the  hat. 

When  the  signal  was   oiven  they  ran  neck  and  neck 


82  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

for  a  short  distance — then  with  a  sudden  and  unexpected 
spurt  the  Morgan  dashed  in  a  length  ahead. 

His  friends  cheered  Morgan  lustily;  the  other  faction 
were  too  astonished  to  other  than  gasp  slightly,  and 
were  silent.  Evans  himself  was  expressionless — if  any- 
thing, he,  as  well  as  Morgan,  looked  a  little  bored  at  the 
easy  victory,  and  cantered  back  to  the  starting  point  for 
the  next  race  with  a  sort  of  indifference. 

The  second  was  twin  to  the  first.  Morgan  seemed 
just  waking  up,  as  he  sprang  forward  perfunctorily  at 
the  finish,  winning  with  ease.  He  moved  as  if  he  knew 
not  fatigue,  even  after  the  hard  day's  work.  It  was  the 
Desert  training  of  his  ancestors  within  him,  their  mar- 
vellous staying  qualities. 

When  they  returned  the  second  time  the  Coxcomb  was 
waiting,  his  restive  horse  trembling  in  anticipation  of  a 
victory. 

One  or  two  false  starts,  and  they  were  off. 

The  Morgan  was  away  toward  the  goal  like  an  arrow 
from  an  Indian's  bow — his  small  extended  muzzle  and 
deep  wide  chest  seemed  to  cut  the  air.  In  the  short 
length  of  the  course  he  thought  of  Flying  Childers  win- 
ning his  historic  race  against  the  runner  Fox,  about 
seventy-five  years  before,  of  which  his  father  told  him. 
Perhaps  this  memory  and  the  strain  of  this  great  an- 
cestor awakened  possibilities  within  him — the  road  ran 
past,  his  small,  well  shaped  black  feet  spurned  the  earth, 
and  before  he  knew  it  he  was  at  the  finish  almost  a  length 
ahead  of  the  horse  who  had  won  so  miny  races  on  The 
Plains  of  Abraham. 

The  chagrin  of  his  antagonist's  rider  was  not  lessened 
by  the  laughs  and  cheers  of  the  farmers,  as  they  clus- 
tered about  Morgan  and  patted  his  round,  deep  body  and 
oblique  shoulders. 

The  Coxcomb  took  his  defeat  ungracefully  and  having 
settled  his  bets  rode  impatiently  away  with  his  friends. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  83 


CHAPTER  XH. 

OLD  GREY  TELLS  PIONEER  TALES. 

Many  events  similar  to  the  one  related  in  the  last 
chapter  spread  the  Morgan's  fame  throughout  the  Valley, 
and  when  Evans  finished  his  clearing  Justin  Morgan  once 
more  took  possession  of  the  horse,  for  his  health  was 
sufficiently  restored    to    take    up  school-teaching  again. 

The  change  from  hard  farm-work  was  very  agreeable 
to  True,  and  they  cantered  from  place  to  place  right 
gaily,  albeit  the  horse  missed  the  sweet  singing  of  Mas- 
ter Morgan,  who  coughed  now  incessantly,  and  often 
had  to  dismount  and  rest  in  the  shade  of  an  oak  on  the 
roadside. 

He  was  scarce  forty  years  old,  but  seemed  much  more 
on  account  of  his  grievous  malady. 

Regularly  they  went  to  Royalton,  some  ten  miles  to 
the  southward,  and  True  grazed  about  until  school  let 
out.  Through  the  window  he  sometimes  saw  the  gentle, 
delicate  face  of  the  teacher  at  his  desk,  his  Continental 
coat  slightly  open  at  the  throat,  showing  a  bit  of  fresh 
white  linen,  his  queue,  in  the  fashion  of  the  day,  tied 
with  a  stifif  bow  of  black  ribband. 

He  was  a  master  of  whom  any  horse  might  have  been 
proud. 

One  day,  while  waiting  for  his  owner,  True  wandered 
into  the  woods  to  escape  the  flies  and  dust  of  the  high- 
way, and  there  he  met  his  friend.  Old  Grey,  who  told 
him  how  the  Indians  had  burned  Royalton  in  1780 ;  and 


84  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

among"  the  anecdotes  relating  to  this  time  there  was  one 
which  amused  the  yoimg  horse  no  httle. 

It  ran  as  follows  : 

For  some  unaccountable  reason  the  Indians  had  failed 
to  burn  the  hut  of  one  Jones,  who  had  a  wife  known 
far  and  wide  as  a  scold  and  a  shrew.  To  get  a  day's 
rest  from  her  abuse,  poor  Jones  oft-times  had  to  go 
hunting  or  trapping,  and  when  he  saw  an  especially  bad 
tantrum  coming  he  would  snatch  his  gun  from  the 
mantel-shelf  and,  calling  his  dog,  rush  forth  into  the 
forest,  a  storm  of  reviling  in  his  wake.  Sometimes  he 
remained  away  for  days. 

Nobody  ever  remembered  having  seen  Jones  smile. 

One  day,  his  wife's  temper  and  tongue  being  worse 
than  usual,  he  found  it  expedient  to  go  hunting,  and 
stayed  away  over  night.  There  are  times  when  a  silent 
dog  is  sweet  company  and  the  peaceful  forest  a  haven 
of  refuge. 

On  the  second  afternoon,  thinking  it  might  be  safe  to 
return,  Jones  approached  his  home  cautiously.  Stranger 
sounds  than  usual  greeted  his  listening  ear. 

He  paused,  alert  and  intent,  silencing  his  intelligent 
dog  with  a  gesture.  Creeping  stealthily  forward  under 
the  shadow  of  the  trees,  he  beheld  a  small  band  of 
Indians  in  the  act  of  breaking  open  his  hut-door.  He 
waited  tensely,  to  see  them  drag  his  wife  out  and  scalp 
her. 

Instead,  from  inside  came  her  familiar  voice  raised  in 
vituperation  and  upbraiding.  Jones  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve his  ears,  and  for  the  first  time  since  his  marriage 
he  grinned. 

"This  time  those  red  imps  have  met  their  match,"  he 
murmured  *to  his  dog  with  an  audible  chuckle. 

Hardly  had  he  spoken  when  out  came  half  a  dozen 
Indians   dragging   the   shrew   between    them.       Not    for 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  85 

one  moment,  however,  did  she  cease  her  abuse,  terri- 
fied though  she  surely  must  have  been. 

Jones,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  watched — 
fearfully  at  first,  then  with  curious  interest.  Finally  he 
sat  down  on  the  ground  and  gave  way  to  uncontrollable 
mirth. 

The  Indians  had  paused  on  the  river  bank  in  consul- 
tation. 

Suddenly,  without  warning  apparently,  two  of  them 
gathered  the  scold  in  their  arms  and  sprang  into  the 
chill  water.  The  others  stood  on  the  bank  and  whooped 
mad  encouragement,  fiendishly,  as  only  Indians  can. 

Mistress  Jones'  green  homespun  petticoat  filled  quickly 
with  air  and  swelled  around  her  like  an  enormous  squash, 
out  of  which  her  scarlet  face  glowed  furiously. 

The  savages  on  the  bank  yelled  and  danced.  Those 
in  the  water  ducked  their  victim  up  and  down,  howling 
with  glee,  cracking  her  over  the  head  as  she  rose. 

''And  there  be  some  who  say  an  Indian  can't  see  a 
joke,"  spluttered  Jones,  under  his  breath,  holding  his 
sides.  The  dog  looked  at  his  master  with  suspicion — 
he  thought  the  man  was  choking. 

But  Jones  soon  saw  that  the  savages  merely  meant  to 
discipline  his  wife  and  give  her  a  bath.  An  interruption 
from  him  might  disturb  these  laudable  intentions,  so  he 
remained  quietly  in  the  background. 

When  they  had  finished  to  their  entire  satisfaction 
they  lifted  the  woman  out  of  the  river  and  flung  her, 
gasping  and  shivering,  among  the  tree-roots  on  the  bank. 
She  looked  like  a  huge  wet  log.  Yelling,  they  swam  the 
river  and  disappeared  in  the  dense  woods  beyond. 

Trembling,  Jones  drew  near — his  mirth-  turned  to 
seemly  gravity ;  but  he  found  a  very  subdued  person. 
Cautiously  Mistress  Jones  opened  her  eyes,  one  at  a 
time,  first  peering  carefully  between  the  lids  to   see  if 


86  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

the  approaching  footsteps  were  those  of  her  tormenters 
returning. 

When  she  saw  her  husband  she  groaned  feebly. 

''Have  they  gone?"  she  whispered. 

''Yes/'  repHed  Jones,  with  becoming  seriousness. 

Mistress  Jones  rose  heavily,  and  squeezed  the  water 
from  her  skirts,  shaking,  humble  and  sobered. 

"It  served  me  right,  husband  dear,"  she  wailed  at  last. 
"I  have  ever  been  what  those  savages  called  me,  'a  dirty 
blouze  of  a  thing,'  but  from  now  on  I  am  a  changed 
woman  and  will  be  a  better  wife  to  you.  The  Indians 
said  they  would  teach  me  a  lesson — and  they  have !" 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  87 

CHAPTER   Xni. 

THE   MORGAN   GOES   TO   MONTPELIER  TO   LIVE. 

Sometimes  Justin  Morgan  rode  his  horse  to  WilHs- 
ton  to  visit  his  friend,  the  Hon.  Lemuel  Bottom,  who  was 
a  lover  of  good  horses ;  sometimes  they  went  to  Hines- 
burgh,  a  short  distance  from  Burlington.  They  were 
constantly  on  the  go  from  one  town  to  another,  meeting 
new  people  and  horses  and  having  fresh  experiences. 

Hinesburgh  was  a  quiet  little  village,  and,  although 
there  were  two  saw-mills,  they  did  not  have  ''bees"  as 
they  did  at  Randolph ;  the  scenery  was  beautiful,  and  the 
bedding  so  good  that  Morgan  enjoyed  his  trips  in  spite 
of  the  lack  of  excitement  which  he  had  grown  to  love  at 
Chase's  Mill. 

His  first  military  experience  was  when  he  took  his 
place  under  an  empty  saddle  in  the  procession  that  con- 
ducted the  body  of  Col.  Israel  Converse  to  his  grave. 
Colonel  Converse  had  been  a  brave  soldier  and  greatly 
beloved  by  his  townspeople ;  over  his  open  grave  Morgan 
heard  for  the  first  time  a  military  salute  and  smelled  the 
acrid  odor  of  gunpowder.  For  a  long  time  he  was 
thrilled  by  the  memory. 

As  time  increased  Master  Morgan's  health  declined 
rapidly;  in  1795-96  he  grew  too  weak  to  work,  and  sold 
his  horse  to  one  William  Rice,  of  Woodstock,  who  in 
turn  sold  him  to  Jonathan  Shepard,  a  sturdy  blacksmith 
living  in  the  little  town  of  Montpelier. 

Shepard  was  also  landlord  of  the  Farmer's  Inn,  which 
stood  within  a  doughnut's  toss  of  his  forge.     He  was 


88  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

an  energetic,  thrifty  man,  and  Colonel  Davis  engaged  him 
to  do  some  clearing  on  his  farm,  seeing  that  he  now  had 
a  good  strong  young  horse.  Thus  Morgan  once  more 
became  a  farm-horse,  but  as  Shepard  was  well  to  do  and 
kind,  he  fared  well  in  his  new  home. 

His  dinner  in  a  pail,  and  oats  in  a  sack  for  the  Mor- 
gan, Shepard  would  go  out  for  a  day's  plowing  or  clear- 
ing the  while  Mistress  Shepard  remained  at  home  to  serve 
customers  at  the  Inn. 

A  "halloo"  from  the  forge  would  make  the  blacksmith 
hurry  back  to  aid  a  passing  traveller  whose  horse  had 
cast  a  shoe  or  whose  wagon  or  "shay"  needed  mending. 
He  would  leave  the  IMorgan  in  the  care  of  Maximus 
Fabius  Davis,  the  son  of  Colonel  Davis,  who — as  boys 
went,  in  Morgan's  estimation — ^was  pleasant  enough. 
Morgan  was  ever  fond  of  men  and  women,  al- 
ready grown,  but  the  stage  of  childhood,  required  to 
develop  them  into  such,  did  not  seem  to  interest  him. 

Now  and  again  Maxy  would  ride  him  home  in  the 
evening,  and  if  there  chanced  to  be  a  horse  at  the  forge 
anxious  for  a  test,  there  would  be  a  race  or  some  trial 
at  pulling.  Tales  of  his  speed  and  strength  spread  for 
miles  around,  and  all  who  called  at  the  Inn  or  the  forge 
were  anxious  to  see  him.  But  they  always  said  after- 
ward it  was  a  shame  to  turn  such  a  fine  animal  into  a 
mere  farm-horse.  Shepard  had  his  answer  ready,  that 
he  "was  but  a  farmer  himself,  and  needed  a  good  plow- 
horse — not  a  racer  eating  its  head  oft  in  his  stable." 

Through  honesty  and  that  thrift  for  which  the  Ver- 
monter  is  famous  Shepard  soon  acquired  considerable 
wealth,  and  wanting  a  larger  place  he  exchanged  the 
Morgan,  his  smithy,  and  the  Farmers'  Inn  for  the  large 
farm  on  Dog  River,  belonging  to  James  Hawkins.  Thus, 
Morgan  changed  owners,  but  not  homes,  for  Hawkins 
came  to  Montpelier  to  live.     The  horse  was  glad  of  this, 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  89 

for  he  liked  the  musical  ring  of  the  hammer  on  the  anvil 
and  the  glare  of  the  forge  as  the  handle  of  the  bellows 
was  raised  and  lowered. 

Montpelier,  organized  in  1793,  was  a  village  of  little 
consequence,  but  one  of  its  citizens  was  a  man  of  parts, 
staunch  and  true,  and  destined  to  rise  to  the  high  posi- 
tion of  Secretary  of  State.  His  name  was  David  Wing, 
Jr.,  and  he  often  borrowed  the  Morgan  from  Hawkins 
for  as  much  as  a  week  at  a  time.  Under  the  comfortable 
saddle  of  Master  Wing,  Morgan  first  saw  the  beautiful 
Winooski,  with  its  sweep  of  eddies  and  currents,  its 
foaming  rapids  and  singing  falls.  David  loved  nature 
and  good  scenery  as  much  as  Morgan  and  their  trips 
were  sweet  and  pleasant  through  lovely,  fertile  valleys 
and  across  densely  wooded  hills ;  along  frequented  high- 
ways or  vague  trails  through  the  forests. 

Sometimes  they  went  as  far  as  Burlington  and  Mor- 
gan had  to  cross  many  streams  and  wade  through  foam- 
ing, circling  water,  which,  when  very  deep,  gave  him  a 
sense  of  adventure.  He  was  always  ready  to  swim  if 
the  need  came,  and  would  have  hesitated  at  nothing  his 
rider  set  him  to  do,  such  confidence  did  he  feel  in  Man- 
wisdom. 

If  they  were  not  in  a  hurry  David  would  allow  him  to 
play  along  the  way,  knowing  well  enough  the  horse 
would  not  abuse  the  privilege.  He  rode  with  a  loose 
rein,  and  on  the  way  home  would  let  the  Morgan  choose 
his  own  gait  and  trail.  The  firm  touch  on  the  bridle 
was  as  light  as  a  woman's,  but  Morgan  was  not  fooled 
by  it.  He  well  knew  this  was  a  rider  who  would  brook 
no  impertinence,  and  it  kept  him  steady  and  respectful, 
even  while  he  took  advantage  of  the  permission  to  frolic 
a  little. 

These  two  saw  many  strange  sights  in  their  wander- 


90  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

ings — sights  that  later  history  proved  were  the  making 
of  a  fine  and  sturdy  race  of  men  and  horses. 

Ofttimes,  in  bitter  winter  weather,  they  passed  Httle 
bare-foot  children  on  their  way  to  school,  carrying  their 
shoes  in  their  cold  hands,  to  put  on,  in  a  very  elegant 
manner,  at  the  school-house  door ;  to  z^'alk  in  them  would 
have  been  wilful  extravagance,  though  their  toes  were 
blue  with  cold !  If,  by  chance,  they  found  a  cow  lying 
down,  chewing  on  her  morning  cud,  they  would  disturb 
her  rudely  and  make  her  get  up,  that  they  might  put 
their  bare  feet  on  the  spot  she  had  so  nicely  warmed 
for  her  own  comfort. 

But  better  and  more  prosperous  times  were  coming, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  shoes  were  looked  upon  as  a 
necessity  for  children,  not  an  extravagance,  though  they 
were  ever  evil-smelling  things — the  leather  being  home- 
tanned  and  home-cured  and  needing  much  greasing  at 
night  to  keep  it  soft  enough  to  make  the  shoes  wearable. 
They  made  an  unseemly  clumping  on  the  floor,  and  were 
very  ugly,  but  their  aim  being  use,  not  beauty,  this  was 
no  drawback. 

5}:  ^  ^  5|C  ^  jjt 

Sometimes  kind  and  gentle  Mistress  Hannah  Wing 
rode  the  Morgan  to  a  quilting  bee,  or  meeting,  or  to  such 
entertainments  as  ladies  saw  fit  to  attend.  She  was 
good  to  him  and  made  his  visits  to  their  barn  most 
pleasant.  In  the  mornings  she  would  come  tripping  out, 
her  arms  full  of  dew-wet  clover  or  grass,  just  cut,  or 
she  would  have  a  dish  of  goodies  from  the  kitchen — 
some  carrots  or  turnips.  'Twas  no  wonder  the  horse 
loved  her  and  called  to  her,  as  she  drew  near,  with  his 
affectionate  little  neigh.  He  always  hoped  David  might 
buy  him  from  Hawkins ;  he  loved  the  Wings  and  they 
returned    his     friendship.     And   a    horse    never   knows 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  91 

when  he  may  change  owners.  He  can  only  hope  his  next 
one  may  be  the  one  of  his  choosing,  which  does  some- 
times happen. 

The  minds  of  the  Vermonters  in  those  days  dwelt  on 
higher  things  than  fashions,  especially  with  the  men,  and 
the  wearing  of  beavers  was  not  common,  unless  perhaps 
the  hat  was  inherited.  Hats  were  so  much  better  made 
then,  and  so  expensive,  that  a  beaver  lasted  from  thirty 
to  forty  years,  and  was  passed  on  from  father  to  son.  In 
this  way  it  had  come  to  be  looked  on  as  frivolous  and 
extravagant  to  be  seen  in  a  new  one;  if  any  man  had 
the  courage  to  buy  such,  he  left  it  out  in  the  weather  a 
few  nights  to  ''take  that  nezu  look  oif"  before  he  wore 
it  in  public. 

At  this  time  David  Wing  was  town-clerk,  and  one 
day  on  his  return  from  a  trip  to  Boston,  by  stage,  he 
brought  home  something  in  what  was  unmistakably  a  hat- 
box. 

Gossip  concerning  so  important  a  man  soon  flew  about, 
and  the  box  became  town-talk  before  the  day  was  over. 
Women  folks  came,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  to  call 
on  Mistress  Wing.  Some  asked  her  rule  for-wheaten 
cake,  others  how  she  made  her  cheeses,  and  so  on.  But 
it  did  not  take  their  clever  hostess  long  to  find  out  the 
true  aim  of  their  calls,  and  being  right  proud  of  the  hat 
herself,  she  took  it  out  of  the  box  and  showed  it  to  them 
all.  'Twas  very  tall  and  glossy,  and  shaped  liked  the 
rain  barrel :  the  brim  was  so  low  in  front  it  would  hide 
its  wearer's  nose  completely ;  suddenly  it  curved  sharply 
at  the  sides  in  the  manner  of  a  drawn  bow ;  and,  all 
told,  it  was  an  elegant  bit  of  the  latest  Boston  fashion. 

'Twas  to  be  worn.  Mistress  Wing  informed  her  call- 
ers, for  the  first  time  at  meeting  the  next  Sabbath. 

Many  were  the  exclamations  of  ''Land  sakes !"  and 
"Do  tells !"  that  the  sight  of  the  hat  provoked,  and  much 


92  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

pleased  was  Mistress  Hannah  to  be  able  to  awaken  so 
much  admiration  for  her  husband's  taste. 

Unfortunately  David  did  not  wait  until  the  Sabbath 
to  wear  his  new  hat ;  had  he  done  so  history,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, would  never  have  recorded  the  fact  that  he  had 
owned  a  beaver. 

The  very  next  morning  he  came  swinging  out  of  the 
house  looking  most  gentlemanly  in  his  high  stock,  ruffled 
shirt  and  shining  boots.  On  his  head  sat,  most  jauntily, 
the  new  hat. 

David  was  off  for  a  town  meeting. 

Down  the  road  cantered  Morgan,  meeting  many  ac- 
quaintances who  paused  in  speechless  admiration  until 
they  passed  out  of  sight.  Some  with  envy,  alack ;  some 
with  criticism  of  the  extravagance,  but  others  with 
friendly  nod  of  greeting  and  approval. 

The  sun  shone,  the  crisp  air  was  fragrant  with  pine 
needles,  and  birds  chirped  in  the  trees  that  fringed  the 
highway.  Morgan  champed  his  bit  and  curvetted  from 
one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  his  heart  full  of  the 
morning  freshness. 

Suddenly  a  yellow  dog  came  in  sight,  and  the  horse, 
full  of  fun  and  spirit,  lowered  his  head  and  made  a  dash 
at  him,  remembering  his  colt-days  and  the  game  of 
"Red-Coats."  The  dog  tucked  his  tail  between  his  hind- 
legs  and  made  off  down  the  road  at  lightning  speed. 

This  was  enough  to  rouse  Morgan ;  even  though  he 
did  not  like  dogs,  he  thought  it  might  be  a  race.  Helter, 
skelter,  he  started ;  ever  fleet  in  running,  he  was  soon 
gaining  slowly,  but  surely,  on  the  dog,  who  was  little 
more  than  a  yellowish  brown  streak  on  the  landscape. 

Morgan  heard  David  say,  good-naturedly : 

''Go  it,  my  boy,  stop  when  you  get  good  and  ready ;  I 
am  having  as  much  fun  as  you." 

Once,   as  the  dog    glanced    hurriedly  back   over   his 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  93 

shoulder,  the  horse  saw  his  tongue  hanging  out — he 
looked  almost  winded,  but  his  pace  was  long  and  even, 
like  Morgan's,  and  his  flapping  ears  responded  rhythmi- 
cally to  his  gait. 

Morgan  tossed  his  head  and  made  a  movement  with 
his  tail  as  much  as  to  indicate  he  had  just  begun  to  race. 
The  rapid  clatter  of  his  own  hoofs  on  the  hard  road  was 
music  to  him. 

Seconds  passed.  Then  the  dog  disappeared  at  a  sharp 
bend  in  the  road. 

Losing  sight  of  him  for  a  moment  nerved  Morgan 
to  a  sudden  spurt.  With  all  his  power  impelling  him  he, 
too,  rounded  the  corner — and  ran  headlong  into  two 
horsemen  who  had  been  jogging  peacefully  and  unsus- 
pectingly along  the  quiet  and  seemingly  deserted  high- 
way. 

What  a  reckoning  there  was !  Never  was  such  con- 
fusion !  Lawyer  Buckley  slid  from  the  back  of  his  pony 
and  his  books  broke  from  the  strap  and  were  scattered 
over  the  road ;  Dr.  Pierce's  saddle  bags  burst  open  and 
pills  and  bandages  fell  out  as  if  to  offer  their  help  in  the 
emergency. 

Morgan,  realizing  he  had  caused  all  the  trouble,  kept 
his  presence  of  mind  admirably,  and  stood  firm  and 
motionless  where  his  front  feet  had  plowed  into  the 
earth  at  his  sudden  halt.  David  did  not  lose  his  seat, 
but  the  stop,  without  any  warning,  almost  threw  him 
over  Morgan's  head. 

When  things  had  steadied  a  bit,  and  explanations  and 
apologies  made,  David  noticed  for  the  first  time,  as  he 
put  his  hand  up  to  remove  his  hat,  and  wipe  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  brow,  that  his  beaver  was  missing. 

Under  the  very  feet  of  Dr.  Pierce's  nag,  who  stood 
still  snorting  her  expostulations,  it  was  found.      Lawyer 


94  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Buckley  picked  it  up,  shaking  his  head  with  ill-concealed 
satisfaction. 

"  'Tis  but  a  crushed  and  torn  rag,"  he  said,  brushing 
it  the  wrong  way  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat ;  ''but  you 
nave  that  young  Morgan  to  thank  for  the  prank." 

At  these  words  Morgan  was  more  mortified  than  ever, 
though  he  could  not  help  glancing  furtively  about  for 
the  dog  and  pricking  his  ears  back  and  forth  for  sounds. 
Soon  he  espied  and  heard  him  a  short  way  ahead, 
yelping  from  the  cover  of  his  owner's  hut,  surrounded 
by  a  protecting  and  gaping  crowd  of  small  bare-foot 
children  who  had  assembled  from  the  other  side  of  the 
house  to  find  out  what  the  matter  was. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  relate  with  what  fallen  crest 
Morgan  bore  his  rider  home  after  the  day  closed  in. 
The  hat,  so  lately  the  envy  of  the  whole  town,  hidden 
under  his  rider's  coat,  to  be  laid  away  until  Mistress 
Hannah  could  restore  it  to  some  of  its  first  magnificence. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  95 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MORGAN    MAKES   A  TRIP  TO  BOSTON. 

For  several  days  Morg-an  showed  his  regret  at  the 
fate  of  the  beaver  by  neither  romping  nor  playing. 
When  David  and  himself  were  on  their  way  from  place 
to  place  and  resting  at  noon,  he  cropped  grass  in  a  very 
staid  and  dignified  manner,  whilst  David  sat  in  the  shade 
and  ate  his  luncheon  of  light  wheaten  cakes  and  cheese, 
the  two  things  for  which  Mistress  Hannah  was  famous. 

On  these  trips  they  sometimes  met  the  Boston-Canada 
stage  coaches,  carrying  the  mail,  and  they  wcaild  stand 
one  side  and  watch  the  horses  running  at  full  speed  over 
the  rough  roads  ;  the  horn  winding  a  lusty  warning  to 
private  coach,  curricle  or  rider,  that  might  be  approach- 
ing from  the  other  direction  round  a  sharp  bend  in  the 
way. 

Again  they  would  pass  lazy  oxen,  drawing  their  sleds 
slowly  to  market,  or  coming  home  from  mill,  their  loads 
creaking  behind  them  as  they  swayed  awkwardly  from 
side  to  side,  responding  reluctantly  to  the  goad-sticks  in 
their  drivers'  hands. 

These  pioneer  teams  drew  the  products  of  the  out- 
lying farms — maple  sugar,  and  potash  and  "black  salts" 
—  (gathered  by  thrifty  farmers  from  the  ashes  of  winter 
fires  or  logging  heaps) — to  the  towns. 

The  forests  of  Vermont  at  first  were  gloomy  and  al- 
most impenetrable,  tending,  some  claimed,  to  make  the, 
people  grave  and  serious,  but  already  the  lumber  indus- 
try had  begun  the  destruction  of  the  beautiful  woods  of 


96  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

hemlock,  birch,  white  pine,  ash,  chestnut  and  stately  oak. 
Saw-mills  whirred  and  sang  busily  on  river  banks,  whose 
falls  afforded  such  marvellous  water-power  for  their 
wheels,  and  comfortable  houses  soon  took  the  place  of 
pioneer  huts  in  many  places. 

In  spite  of  his  faithful  service  to  the  Wings,  they  did 
not  buy  the  Morgan,  and  Hawkins  after  a  while  sold 
him  to  the  same  Robert  Evans,  at  Randolph,  for  whom 
he  had  once  done  such  good  service. 

Randolph  had  a  newspaper  now,  called  The  Weekly 
Wanderer,  and  this  praised  the  Morgan  so  highly  that 
for  a  while,  out  of  pride,  Evans  had  to  keep  him  in  good 
condition.  But  unfortunately  this  pride  lasted  but  a 
short  time,  Evans  being  too  busy  at  his  farm  work  and 
trapping,  earning  a  living  for  his  family. 

On  the  day  of  his  return  to  Randolph,  Morgan  heard 
that  Master  Justin  Morgan  had  gone  on  to  "lie  in  green 
pastures,  beside  still  waters."  So  sweet  a  sound  had 
this  to  the  lonely  horse,  separated  from  his  good  friends 
in  Montpelier,  that  he  sometimes  wandered  away  from 
the  Evans'  primitive  barn,  looking  for  that  ''Valley  of 
the  Shadow"  of  which  men  spoke  when  referring  to  the 
kindly  school-master.  The  heat  of  the  mid-summer  days 
sometimes  oppressed  the  little  horse,  and  he  grew  thin 
and  weary  at  the  plow,  but  there  was  no  "Valley  of  the 
Shadow"  for  him — no  other  valley  could  he  find  than  his 
work-a-day  one  along  the  banks  of  the  sparkling  White 
River  in  full  sunshine. 

In  the  weary  battling  against  the  uncongenial  farm 
life,  he  was  no  little  cheered  by  the  memory  of  what  his 
father  told  .him  of  his  high-crested  ancestor,  the  Godol- 
phin  Arabian — ^that  he,  in  all  his  greatness  and  beautv, 
had  once  pulled  a  water  cart  in  France. 

In  a  year  the  brave  little  horse  was  unrecognizable ; 
his  once  glossy,  soft  coat  had  coarsened,  and  often  he 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  97 

was  humiliated  by  the  knowledge  that  there  were  burrs 
in  his  tail  and  in  the  bit  of  dark  hair  that  grew  above  his 
fetlocks. 

Chase's  Mill  was  still  the  centre  of  the  town's  gaiety; 
occasionally  there  were  races,  but  rarely  were  the  horses 
worth  Morgan's  effort. 

In  spring,  when  the  world  was  full  of  flowers,  and 
orchids  and  blue  flags  hung  their  banners  out  to  tempt 
the  Evans  children  into  the  woods,  Morgan  would  go 
with  them  to  gather  these  or  the  more  useful  medicinal 
herbs  for  times  of  sickness — pleurisy-root,  marshmallow 
or  ginseng.  In  summer  he  went  with  them  to  pick  ber- 
ries of  all  sorts  or  wild  grapes,  and  when  the  autumn 
came,  with  its  glory  of  beech  and  maple,  turning  to 
copper  and  scarlet,  he  would  bring  home  their  bags  of 
nuts  across  his  round  back. 

In  winter  his  coat  grew  long  and  thick;  and  Evans 
himself  rode  him  to  distant  traps  set  in  the  forest  for 
bear,  musk-rat  and  foxes,  which  supplied  food  or  cloth- 
ing for  the  family.  The  horse  grew  accustomed  after 
a  while  to  the  monotony  of  his  life  and  tried  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 

One  cold,  clear  day  Evans  cleaned  him  so  very  care- 
fully Morgan  felt  sure  something  was  about  to  happen, 
but  did  not  try  to  guess  what ;  he  had  learned  the  futility 
of  that  long  ago,  for  things  never  came  about  as  he 
guessed  or  planned  they  should. 

In  the  course  of  time,  however,  he  found  himself  can- 
tering along  the  stage-road  to  Boston.  It  was  a  trip 
he  had  long  wanted  to  take, -so  many  horses  had  told 
him  what  a  beautiful  and  gay  city  it  was. 

The  day  being  severely  cold,  he  was  glad  enough  of 
the  long  legs  and  homespun  woolen  breeches  of  his  rider 
which  covered  so  much  of  his  sides.  As  for  Evans,  he 
had  his  muskrat  cap  pulled  well  over  his  ears  and  his 


98  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

home-made  boots  of  calf-skin  (smelling-  horribly  of 
grease),  with  the  heavy  breeches  tucked  well  inside, 
were  warm  and  comfortable  to  his  feet. 

But  they  must  have  cut  a  sorry  figure  when  they 
reached  Boston  and  went  along  Summer  Street ;  that 
lovely,  fashionable  thoroughfare,  with  its  stately  trees, 
beautiful  flower  gardens  and  splendid  mansions. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  stopped  in  Corn  Court,  at  the 
Braser  Inn — the  famous  hostelry  opened  by  Samuel 
Cole,  in  1634,  where  Miantonomah's  painted  Indians — 
envoys  to  Sir  Harry  Vane — had  been  entertained ;  where 
the  French  Premier,  Talleyrand,  had  so  lately  stayed ; 
where  so  many  other  events  of  history  had  taken  place. 

As  Evans  was  hitching  his  horse  to  a  post  near  the 
side  door  of  the  tavern,  Morgan  heard  a  familiar,  ban- 
tering voice ;  the  odor  of  musk  came  to  his  nostrils 
faintly,  and  glancing  about,  he  saw — as  he  knew  he 
should — the  Coxcomb. 

No  fop  of  the  King's  court  could  have  looked  more 
elegant ;  his  Continental  coat,  cocked  hat  and  high  shin- 
ing boots  were  of  the  latest  cut — not  less  offensive  to 
the  simple  taste  of  the  horse  was  his  insolent  swagger. 

Master  Knickerbocker,  of  course,  did  not  notice  Mor- 
gan, but  cried  to  Evans  persuadingly : 

"Tarry  the  night,  my  Green  Mountain  Giant,  we  can 
show  you  rare  sport  at  cards  if  you've  money  in  your 
purse." 

Evans  towered  above  the  popinjay  as  his  Green  Moun- 
tains would  have  towered  over  Beacon  Hill.  He  gazed 
down  at  him  with  contempt,  vaguely,  yet  not  definitely, 
recognizing  his  one-time  antagonist  in  a  race,  as  Mor- 
gan had. 

*T  have  no  money  to  lose  to  you,  my  young  sir,"  he 
made  reply,  ungraciously.      "I  am  but  a  simple  farmer, 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  99 

and  I  play  with  none  but  my  own  kind.  I  do  not  know 
the  rules  by  which  such  as  you  handle  the  cards !" 

''Then  join  us  in  a  glass  of  Aledford  rum — such  as  you 
Vermonters  know  so  well  how  to  appreciate — 'tis  cold 
outside  and  the  landlord  will  mull  us  a  bowl.  Come, 
I  say !" 

He  clapped  the  farmer  hospitably  on  the  shoulder  in 
friendly  fashion,  and  led  the  w^ay  into  the  tavern. 

A  kind  bar-maid  came  out  and  threw  a  fur  square 
over  Morgan's  shivering  back  and  give  him  a  warm 
mash,  which  comforted  him  greatly.  He  acknowledged 
her  friendliness,  by  nipping  her  sleeve  gently  with  his 
lip ;  and  as  she  was  fond  of  horses,  this  pleased  her, 
and  she  further  brought  him  joy  by  patting  his  face 
gently  and  murmuring  little  love-talk  in  his  ears. 

Many  hours  later  the  side  door  opened  and  the  Cox- 
comb came  out.  He  was  talking  to  himself  as  he  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  blotting  out  the  sudden  radiance 
from  the  great,  roaring  fire  inside  the  tavern.  He  did 
not  notice  Morgan,  though  he  almost  touched  him  in  the 
darkness  as  he  paced  to  and  fro. 

''Egad !"  he  cried,  under  his  breath  ;  "the  fellow  had 
money — ^but  he  has  it  not.  Let  him  go  back  where  he 
belongs,  to  his  land  of  hemlock  and  frost-bitten,  half- 
civilized  race.  .  .  .  Yet,"  and  he  almost  sighed — 
not  quite,  "even  /  awakened  to  a  slight  feeling  of  com- 
punction when  he  turned  out  the  toe  of  a  woman's  stock- 
ing and  confessed  it  was  his  last  shilling — money,  he 
remembered  too  late,  his  wife  had  given  him  to  buv  a 
caHco  gown.  .  .  .  Ha !  Calico,  at  the  trifle  of 
three  shillings  the  yard  !  ^Mistress  Lloyd" — here  Mor- 
gan pricked  his  ears  back  and  forth — "Mistress  Llovd 
wears  silks  and  satins,  and  her  laces  are  like  cobwebs. 
.  .  .  Oddsbodikins  !  There  is  a  maid  to  turn  a  man's 
head — even  mine !      'Twill  not  be  long  now  before  my 


loo  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

suit  prospers.  ...  I  have  won  everything  from  her 
father  but  his  daughter,  and  I  shall  bide  my  time  till  I 
win  her.  I  have  made  up  my  mind — I,  and  not  Du- 
laney,  will  live  'Where  the  Great  Lloyd  sets  his  Hall !'  " 

Almost  under  Morgan's  nose  he  drew  from  his  satin 
waistcoat-pocket  a  snufif-box  wrought  in  gold  by  a  mas- 
ter craftsman.  With  the  tips  of  his  delicate  fingers  he 
daintily  pinched  a  few  grains  of  the  evil-smelling  powder 
and  placed  it  to  his  nostrils. 

Morgan  sneezed. 

The  Coxcomb  stepped  hurriedly  aside  with  a  pro- 
digious oath  as  the  door  of  the  Inn  swung  open. 

Robert  Evans  stalked  out  into  the  night,  his  cap 
pulled  over  his  ears,  his  fur  cape  wrapped  tight  about 
his  shoulders.  The  Coxcomb  greeted  him  with  a  con- 
descending smile  and  extended  his  snuff-box. 

The  giant  waved  it  aside  with  a  gesture  of  dignity  and 
scorn. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said,  shortly ;  "if  the  good  Lord  had 
intended  my  nose  for  a  dirt-box,  he  would  have  put  it 
on  upside  down !" 

Master  Knickerbocker  laughed,  though  Evans  had 
not  intended  to  be  funny. 

"Egad !  A  very  good  sally  !"  he  drawled.  "Yet  I  but 
tried  to  show  my  friendliness." 

"  'Tis  a  pity  you  had  not  tried  to  show  it  earlier  in 
the  evening,"  returned  Evans,  gruffly,  as  he  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  away. 

Good  Dame  Evans  would  have  no  calico  gown  from 
Boston,  that  was  sure,  and  'twas  money  she'd  saved  for 
years  from  her  cheese  and  butter  sales,  and  kept  in  an 
old  bee-hive  in  the  attic,  saying  no  word  to  anyone  of  it. 

Now  her  sacrifices  had  gone  to  purchase  snufif  and 
perfume  for  the  Coxcomb. 

Morgan  had  often  seen  Dame  Evans  give  the  tradi- 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  loi 

tional  Vermont  "beech  seal"  to  her  sons — and  he  would 
not  deny  they  needed  it ;  and  he  had  seen  her  dash  scald- 
ing water  on  a  prowling  Indian ;  he  guessed  Robert 
Evans'  greeting,  when  they  reached  home,  would  not  be 
an  affectionate  one. 

On  the  way  back  to  Randolph,  Evans  was  in  a  temper 
and  swore  grievously.  Morgan  had  caught  a  cold  and 
coughed  constantly.  The  journey  was  withal  a  trying 
one;  'twas  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  horse's  memo- 
ries of  Boston  were  neither  beautiful  nor  gay,  and  that 
he  never  had  a  desire  to  repeat  his  trip. 

It  was  dark  when  they  reached  home,  but  Mistress 
Evans,  who  had  been  on  the  lookout,  threw  open  the 
kitchen  door  as  they  entered  the  gate,  and  the  barn- 
yard was  flooded  with  the  warm  glow  of  the  firelight 
from  within.  Her  head  was  tied  up  in  a  fustian  square 
and  a  fur  was  thrown  over  her  shoulders.  She  ran  out 
to  greet  them,  a  lanthorn  in  her  hand. 

''Welcome,  home.  Husband,  dear!"  she  cried,  cheerily. 
"Give  me  the  purchases.  I  would  see  my  calico  frock 
without  delay.  Yes,  and  get  to  work  on  it,  for  'tis  no 
short  task  to  stitch  those  long  seams — with  chores  -to  do 
besides !" 

She  held  out  her  hand  eagerly. 

"Go  into  the  house  directly,  Wife,  out  of  the  cold !" 
evaded  Evans,  taking  the  lanthorn  from  her.  "I  will 
be  in  presently — when  I  have  bedded  down  the  Morgan," 
he  added. 

And  she,  being  an  obedient,  womanly  and  faithful  wife, 
suspecting  nothing,  went  in  to  .sing  over  the  final  prepa- 
rations of  supper. 

In  spite  of  the  cold  and  fatigue  of  his  owner,  Morgan 
never  got  a  better  rubbing-down  nor  a  finer  meal. 

'"Well,  Morgan,"  Evans  murmured,  at  last,  "I  guess 
I  can't  put  it  off  any  longer." 


102  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

He  dragged  his  reluctant  feet  slowly  toward  the  house, 
where  Dame  Evans  was  waiting  for  him  with  steaming 
hulled  corn,  fried  pork  and  maybe  something  else — when 
she  found  out  his  secret! 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  103 


CHAPTER   XV. 

FOR    MISTRESS    LLOYD,    OF    MARYLAND. 

In  1803  Morgan  went  to  pass  a  week  with  his  old 
friends,  the  Wings,  and  the  visit  was  one  long  to  be 
remembered. 

The  talk  of  the  village  was  Mistress  Hannah's  new 
silken  gown — the  first  ever  brought  to  Montpelier,  so  the 
town  history  tells.  David  Wing  was  now  Judge  and 
Secretary  of  State,  and  his  wife  had  to  wear  fine 
clothes,  as  befitted  her  station,  for  many  were  the  calls 
on  her  to  entertain  distinguished  guests. 

It  was  at  a  meeting  in  their  new  barn  that  Alistress 
Wing  first  wore  the  wonderful  silk.  All  the  other  ladies 
present  had  on  homespun  and  linen — silk  would  have 
been  called  "flunk  and  flummux"  on  them. 

The  Judge  that  day  wore  his  Indian  cotton  shirt  with 
the  frills — hemmed  and  tucked.  It  made  a  brave-  show, 
for  cotton  was  three  shillings  the  yard  at  that  time. 

I  mention  these  historic  facts  merely  to  show  that 
Morgan  played  his  part  with  the  Quality  of  the  times,  as 
well  as  at  the  plow,  and  to  occupy  a  stall  in  the  Judge's 
grand  new  barn  was  no  small  privilege  to  a  horse ! 

But  the  greatest  pleasure  of  all  was  when  he  heard 
that  Colonel  Lloyd  of  Maryland,  and  his  daughter  had 
come  a'visiting  the  Judge  and  his  lady. 

The  Wings  and  the  Lloyds  had  met  in  New  York  the 
winter  before  and  the  Judge  had  unwoven  some  legal 
tangles  for  the  Colonel.  A  friendship  had  resulted  and 
now  the  Southerners  had  come  all  the  way  from  Mary- 


I04  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

land  in  their  coach  to  enjoy  the  cool,  summer  breezes  of 
Vermont  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  their  New  Eng- 
land friends. 

When  the  Judge  brought  them  out  to  see  his  new  barn 
Morgan  recognized  the  swish  of  her  petticoats  at  once, 
as  Mistress  Lloyd  drew  near  the  stable. 

Knowing  how  they  loved  good  horses  their  host  threw 
open  Morgan's  door. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  then : 

"Why,  I  know  this  horse !"  cried  Mistress  Lloyd.  '7 
gave  him  his  first  blue  ribband!" 

Oh,  the  melody  of  her  voice,  and  the  feel  of  her  cheek 
against  his !  At  last,  after  years  of  parting,  they  met — 
and  she  had  not  forgotten  him.  Oh,  wondrous  mem- 
ory of  such  a  woman  as  she ! 

Morgan  was  glad  the  Judge's  hired  man  had  groomed 
him  so  carefully  that  mornirig,  and  that  not  long  before, 
the  stable  floor  had  been  strewn  with  fresh,  sweet  saw- 
dust. 

"What  a  noble  animal  you've  grown  to  be !"  she  whis- 
pered in  his  waiting  ear.  "I  predicted  it  full  ten  years 
agone !" 

So  it  had  been  ten  years  since  he  had  seen  her  last,  yet 
he  had  cherished  her,  and  she  him,  in  memory,  all  that 
long  time  of  busy  scenes  apart. 

He  pushed  his  small  muzzle  in  and  out  among  the  laces 
and  gauzes  of  her  neck  so  gently  they  were  not  disar- 
ranged, and  she  pressed  her  cheek  close  to  his.  Some- 
thing in  the  tones  of  her  voice  told  him  she  was  not 
happy,  and  as  the  delicious  odor  of  her  hair  entered  his 
nostrils  he  whinneyed  a  question,  softly. 

As  if  understanding,  she  answered,  murmuring  near 
his  ear, 

''Dear  Little  Horse,"  there  was  a  catch  in  her  voice,  'T 
cannot  buy  you,  even  now,  for  our  money  is  all  gone ! 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  105 

Daddy  is  no  nianager ;  he  has  ever  been  what  they  call  a 
'gentleman'  and  our  family  mansion — 'where  the  Great 
Lloyd  sets  his  Hall' — is  to  be  sold  to  pay  a  most  unjust 
'debt  of  honor' — I  call  it  a  debt  of  dishonor,  for  'twas 
made  at  the  gaming  table ;  and  though  Judge  Wing  be 
ever  so  clever,  he  can  do  nothing  now  for  my  father  and 
me!" 

She  leaned  against  Morgan ;  he  heard  a  sob  in  her 
throat  as  she  clasped  his  arched  neck. 

He  whinneyed  his  tenderest  sympathy,  and  maybe  she 
would  have  told  him  more,  but  there  came  a  sound  of 
voices  through  the  open  door. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  my  daughter !"  It  was  the  Colonel 
speaking.  ''Come  and  greet  our  friend  who  has  ridden 
all  the  way  from  Boston  to  see  us.  He  says  he  has  a 
plan  whereby  we  may  save  our  home !"  Colonel  Lloyd 
spoke  hopefully,  if  a  little  doubtfully. 

Mistress  Lloyd  turned  her  face,  flushed  with  emotion, 
and  saw  the  Coxcomb,  of  whom  Morgan  had  just  caught 
scent. 

"A  plan?"  she  questioned  him,  after  a  cold  greeting. 
"You  mean  a  price !  'Tis  the  same  old  one,"  she  said 
wearily,  "I  do  not  need  to  be  told!" 

"My  price,"  he  answered,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "is 
offered  out  of  friendship  for  your  father  and — " 

"You  need  not  say !"  she  interrupted  him,  contemptu- 
ously.    "  'Tis  not  for  friendship  you  do  kindnesses !" 

"You  know  my  price,"  he  said,  with  calm  insolence. 
"I  have  waited  long,"  he  added,  under  his  breath. 

"I  will  never  pay  it !"  she  replied  with  steady  scorn, 
but  so  firmly  Master  Knickerbocker  could  not  but  be- 
lieve her. 

The  truth  was,  he  wanted  her  to  be  his  wife,  and  she, 
knowing  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  had  withstood  his 
importunities  for  years.     She  would  none  of  him. 


io6  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

She  held  her  head  high. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  raised  his  eyebrows. 

**As  you  will,  Mistress !  In  one  week  more  you  and 
your  father  will  be  beggars,  and  living  on  the  charity  of 
your  friends — unless  ?"  He  flicked  his  riding  boot  with 
his  whip  and  looked  at  her  with  defiance. 

There  was  a  short  silence  during  which  the  lady  grew 
very  haughty,  and  then  began  to  move  away. 

"Come,"  the  Coxcomb  spoke  again,  in  a  different  tone, 
following  after  her.  "You  love  a  good  race — you're  a 
Southerner — what  say  you  to  a  race — yourself  and  your 
home  the  stake?  If  3^ou  win  I  will  cancel  all  these 
notes  I  hold  against  your  father  and  accept  your  refusal 
to  marry  me  as  final.     If  I  win,  ah " 

Mistress  Lloyd  silenced  him  with  a  movement;  she 
was  no  longer  the  slip  of  a  girl  True  knew  at  Hartford. 
Here  was  a  mature  character  of  spirit  and  dignity,  yet 
not  lacking  in  the  sweetness  of  perfect  womanhood. 

"I  understand — you  need  not  put  the  rest  in  words.  I 
will  ride  your  race,  on  this  very  horse — and  you?" 

"I  have  Silvertail  with  me,"  he  answered,  and  in  an 
undertone  added,  "You  will  not  have  the  ghost  of  a 
chance !" 

If  Mistress  Lloyd  did  not  hear  this,  Morgan  did,  and 
switched  his  tail  with  satisfaction,  moving  his  ears  to 
and  fro,  to  miss  nothing. 

Silvertail !  If  horses  could  laugh  aloud,  Morgan 
would  have  laughed.  He  recalled  a  race  six  years  be- 
fore against  Silvertail  and  it  seemed  almost  a  miracle 
that  he  should  meet  him  again — of  all  the  other  horses 
in  America — in  so  important  an  event. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  Silvertail,"  came  Mistress  Lloyd's 
brave  reply. 

The  Coxcomb   looked  at   Morgan   scornfully,   not   re- 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  107 

membering  how  he,  too,  had  been  defeated  by  him  years 
ago,  at  Chase's  Mill ! 

"Then  'tis  settled,"  he  said,  confidently. 

"Nay,  not  settled!"  cried  the  lady,  with  well-feigned 
gaiety.  "We've  yet  to  put  the  matter  in  writing,  all  in 
due  form  with  the  Judge  to  advise."  For  Mistress 
Lloyd  was  no  careless  person,  when  it  came  to  business, 
nor  no  mean  reader  of  men. 

She  placed  her  hand  for  a  moment  under  Morgan's 
jaw  and  felt  his  pulses  surge  in  response  to  her  touch; 
then  she  drew  herself  erect,  reassured — as  if  the  race 
were  already  won ! 

They  left  the  stable  making-  their  plans. 

An  hour  later,  Judge  Wing  and  the  Colonel  came  into 
the  Morgan's  stall. 

"My  dear  sir,"  the  Colonel  was  saying,  "the  folly  of 
it !  My  daughter — and  to  ride  for  such  a  stake !  But 
you  know  the  girl.  She  has  set  her  heart  on  it — I  can 
do  nothing.  She  winds  me  about  her  finger  as  if  I  were 
a  piece  of  string,  since  her  dear  mother  died.  Our 
trouble  is  all  my  fault,  what  with  mortgages  and  debts 
of  honor,  I  am  well  paid  for  my  follies — and,  after  all, 
this  race  is  better  than  seeing  her  married  to  the  author 
of  all  our  unhappiness.     Yet  if  she  should  not  win !" 

"No  need  to  worry  over  that,  my  friend,"  the  Judge 
said.     "Morgan  has  already  beaten  this  Silvertail  horse." 

"You  don't  tell  me !" 

"I  recall  the  circumstances  perfectly,"  continued  the 
Judge.  "Silvertail*  is  a  horse  with  a  reputation ;  he  was 
bred  in  St.  Lawrence  County,  New  York,  and  the  Mor- 
gan once  won  a  stake  of  fifty -dollars  in  a  race  against 
him.  It  was  in  the  life-time  of  Justin  Morgan  himself, 
and  Master  Morgan,  sir,  ofifered  Silvertail  two  chances 
to  redeem  himself  afterwards,  in  either  walking  or  run- 

*  Morgan  Horses,  Linsley,  page  134. 


io8  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

ning',  but  the  offer  was  declined.  The  world  doesn't 
know  Morgan,  but  I  do,  and  our  race  is  already  won!" 

The  horse  arched  his  crest  at  these  words  of  praise. 

''Then  all  is  said !"  cried  the  Colonel,  in  a  tone  of  re- 
lief. "My  daughter  is  the  finest  horse-woman  in  Mary- 
land, and  that  is  no  mean  praise." 

He  came  to  Morgan  and  placed  his  hand  lightly  on 
the  horse's  broad  forehead,  and  seeing  the  Judge  had 
turned  away,   spoke   softly   near  the  pricking  ear. 

"Save  her.  Little  Horse,  and  I  will  never  touch  an- 
other card !" 

Already  Morgan  could  feel  the  finish  of  that  race  and 
see  the  flaxen-maned  Silvertail  toiling  behind.  He  had 
little  regard  for  a  horse  with  light  points  (but  which  do 
well  enough  for  mere  beauty)  ;  deep  in  his  heart  his 
respect  was  for  dark  points,  at  once  indicating  possi- 
bilities of  strength,  docility  and  endurance — he  had 
proven  these  qualities  and  knew ! 

That  afternoon,  the  sun  still  high,  he  was  led  out  to 
be  exercised  and  prepared  for  the  race. 

Then  She  came,  and,  mounting  him,  rode  easily  and 
gaily  down  the  stretch  of  road  to  the  blacksmith  shop 
where  the  course,  as  usual,  was  marked  out  along  the 
highway. 

In  the  fashion  of  the  day  her  purple  habit  almost 
swept  the  ground  as  she  sat  her  saddle  with  firm  confi- 
dence ;  her  wide  hat  and  plume  falling  to  her  shoulders, 
framed  her  high-bred  face.  Her  eyes  sparkled — for  the 
moment  she  almost  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  nature 
of  the  stake !  Hers  was  the  embodiment  of  that  South- 
ern spirit  of  which  Beautiful  Bay  had  so  often  told  True. 

Her  grasp  of  the  bridle  rein  was  as  gentle  as  a  caress, 
but  as  firm  as  steel — showing,  well,  she  would  brook  no 
foolishness  from  a  horse. 

Against  the  sky  the  Green  Mountains    reared    their 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  109 

heads,  the  pastureland  on  their  sloping  sides  was  patched 
here  and  there  with  cloud-shadows,  and,  where  the  sun's 
rays  slanted  on  the  Winooski  it  glittered  like  a  silver 
line  in  the  valley.  No  wind,  and  a  late  rain,  made  the 
condition  of  the  road  perfect. 

Loitering  about  the  smithy  were  a  few  men  who 
roused  themselves  at  sight  of  the  ^Morgan  cantering  up 
with  a  lady  on  his  back. 

Across  the  way,  on  the  Inn  porch,  the  sound  of  voices 
rose  and  fell  in  argument  over  the  policies  of  Thomas 
Jefferson,  the  "Farmer"  President ;  the  purchase  of  Lou- 
isiana from  the  French,  and  such  topics  of  the  time. 
The  idle  men  to  whom  the  voices  belonged  sat  in  a  row, 
their  chairs  tilted  against  the  wall,  but  when  they  saw 
the  Coxcomb  swagger  forth,  they  brought  them  down  to 
the  floor,  simultaneously,  and  stared  curiously. 

Silvertail  was  led  up  and  the  slender  New  Yorker 
swung  himself  lightly  into  the  saddle. 

The  idlers  rose,  gazed  after  the  retreating  horseman  a 
moment,  then  strode  with  one  accord  down  the  Inn  steps 
and  on  to  the  smithy,  just  in  time  to  see  the  Coxcomb 
give  ]\Iistress  Lloyd  a  grand  sweep  of  his-  hat,  as  he  said 
gallantly : 

"  'Tis  hard  to  beat  so  fair  an  antagonist,  but  the  stake 
is  one  I  must  win !" 

"The  race  is  yet  to  be  run !"  the  lady  made  reply, 
smiling,  securely. 

She  released  the  fastenings  of  her  plumed  hat  and 
tossed  it  to  her  father. 

"Catch,  Daddy,  dear !  I  ride  with  no  frills  and  furbe- 
lows to-day !  I  wish  I  were  tliat  light  Francis  Buckle. 
Do  you  recall,  Father,  how  he  won  last  year  at  Epsom 
on  Tyrant,  the  very  worst  horse  that  ever  won  a 
Derby?" 

"My  daughter  is  almost  as  light  as  Buckle  and  the 


no  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Morgan  a  better  horse.  We  have  nothing  to  fear !"  So 
spoke  Colonel  Lloyd,  bravely,  and,  patting  Morgan's 
long  shoulder,  he  raised  his  hat  with  courtly  grace  and 
bade  his  daughter,  "God-speed!"   right  gaily. 

And  Mistress  Lloyd?  She  laughed  serenely — ^that 
same  brook-like  laugh  of  long  ago;  her  lip  did  not 
quiver  nor  her  voice  tremble.  With  such  spirit  do  men 
go  into  battle.  She  gathered  the  reins  in  her  slim,  bare 
hands — no  gloves  should  come  between  her  and  Mor- 
gan's mouth  that  day — ^and  smiled  at  her  antagonist,  as 
if  to  say: 

"Morgan  and  I  do  not  fear  you  and  Silvertail !" 

When  Silvertail'  recognized  Morgan,  which  he  did  at 
once,  he  began  to  fret  and  prance.  Morgan,  however, 
made  no  false  motions ;  he  was  saving  every  fibre  of 
energy.  With  eager  nostrils  and  arching  crest  he 
waited  the  signal  to  start. 

The  Coxcomb  sat  his  horse  with  consummate  grace, 
but  his  eyes  glittered  cruelly,  in  a  way  that  boded  ill  for 
Silvertail.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  silver-mounted 
whip,  on  his  heels  spurs  shone. 

Mistress  Lloyd,  on  the  other  hand,  had  neither  whip 
nor  spur;  she  ever  depended  on  the  tones  of  her  voice 
for  success  with  horses  ;  sitting  like  .a  model  for  an  Ama- 
zon, she  waited,  calm,  serene. 

A  furtive  backward  glance  from  Silvertail's  eye  said 
plainly  enough,  "For  less  than  a  carrot  I'd  bolt,  to  get 
out  of  this  race !" 

Once  Morgan  quivered  as  he  remembered  what  his 
father  had  told  him  of  Eclipse:  "Eclipse  first,  the  rest 
nowhere !" 

To-day  it  should  be  "Morgan  first,  Silvertail  no- 
where !"  The  breeze  blew  lightly  at  his  mane,  his  eyes 
glowed,  his  neck  strained  as  the  signal  was  given. 

Morgan  leaped  forward.     They  were  ofif! 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  iii 

Swift,  as  one  of  a  race  divine  who  flies,  rather  than 
treads  the  earth,  Morgan's  deep,  wide  chest  cleaved  the 
air. 

Pressing  close  came  Silvertail,  breathing  heavily. 

Mistress  Lloyd  had  given  Morgan  his  head,  with  inti- 
mate trust  and  understanding.  He  would  win — in  his 
own  way — and  she  knew  it.  She  was  low  in  the  saddle, 
leaning  close  to  his  extended  neck,  pressing  her  knees 
against  his  side.  In  a  tender,  restrained  voice  she  whis- 
pered, almost  in  his  ear : 

''Win,  my  beauty!  Win  me  my  soldier  at  West 
Point!  Win  me  my  love,  my  home,  my  father,  and  my 
freedom  from  the  persecutions  of  this  man!  Fly  on! 
Fly  on,  you  'Bird  of  the  Desert' !  Win,  and  Allah  will 
bless  you !" 

She  was  stretched  like  an  Indian  along  the  back  of 
her  running  horse. 

Then — there  they  were  at  the  end  of  the  course,  Mor- 
gan a  full  length  ahead  of  Silvertail ! 

In  an  instant  she  was  off  and  had  buried  her  face  in 
Morgan's  mane;  she  was  sobbing  and  laughing  all  at 
once,  with  her  arms  close  about  the  horse's  neck,  as  if 
she  would  never  let  him  go ! 

Silvertail  came  up,  a  small  spot  of  blood  showing  on 
his  side  where  the  cruel  spur  had  wounded  him. 

Master  Knickerbocker  drew  from  his  pocket  a  packet 
of  papers,  taking  his  defeat  outwardly  in  better  part  than 
might  have  been  expected. 

"You  have  won,  ma'am,"  he  said  in  a  low,  hoarse 
voice,  for  he  had  much  to  do  to  control  himself.  "You 
have  won,  and  that  right  fairly.  I  could  have  wished  it 
otherwise,  nor  do  I  yet  see  how  'twas  done !  Your  horse 
was  better  than  mine,  I  suppose;  and  now  I  shall  bid 
you  good-bye,  forever." 

Mistress  Lloyd  took  the  packet  in  her  trembling  fin- 


112  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

gers;  with  her  face  still  screened  behind  the  Morgan,  she 
said  g-ently, 

''Nay,  but  I  must  thank  you  for  these " 

But  she  was  interrupted,  brusquely : 

'There  is  naught  to  thank  me  for,"  he  said,  with  truth. 
"Thank  that  Canadian  scrub  of  yours.  Since  the  race  is 
over  methinks  I  have  tried  conclusions  with  him  before, 
many  years  back  when  we  were  both  younger ;  I  shall 
look  to  it  that  I  am  not  deceived  into  competing  with 
him  again !  That  horse  ought  to  be  on  The  Plains  of 
Abraham ;  he  is  wasted  here !" 

Mistress  Lloyd  extended  her  hand  across  the  Morgan's 
neck,  and  Master  Knickerbocker  raised  it  to  his  lips  with 
his  usual  grace ;  then  he  swung  himself  into  his  saddle 
and  galloped  out  of  sight. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  113 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  WHICH   MORGAN  IS  KNOWN  AS  THE  GOSS   HORSE. 

Soon  after  his  race  with  Silvertail,  Morgan's  reputa- 
tion, having  spread  so  far,  he  was  bought  by  Colonel 
John  Goss,  who,  not  caring  to  have  the  trouble  of  a 
horse  himself,  rode  him  over  to  St.  Johnsbury,  and 
loaned  him  to  David  Goss. 

When  they  arrived  it  was  the  eve  of  Training  Day, 
the  second  of  June,  and  many  farmers  were  gathered 
and  making  merry  at  the  tavern.  Having  all  heard  of 
the  Morgan,  a  great  sensation  was  created  as  Colonel 
Goss  rode  him  up  to  the  porch  of  the  Inn  to  show  him 
off  after  Abel  Shorey  had  trimmed  and  rubbed  him 
down. 

He  had  cantered  gaily  up — mane  and  tail  waving,  wide 
nostrils  tremulous  at  new  scents,  alert  ears  pricking  for 
new  sounds. 

Later  he  was  ridden  to  his  stable  in  David  Goss's  bam. 
The  Goss  place  was  a  fine  one,  with  large  farmhouse, 
barn  and  outbuildings,  the  whole  being  surrounded  by 
tall  and  stately  trees. 

It  was  a  beautiful  home  for  a  horse  to  claim,  and  it 
was  to  be  Morgan's  for  a  long  time.  Here  his  name  was 
changed  again,  and  he  became  known  as  the  Goss  Horse, 
and  was  valued  at  one  hundred  dollars. 

Under  David's  saddle  he  travelled  more  than  ever  to 
near-by  towns  and  farms ;  he  went  to  East  Bethel,  Will- 
iamstown,  Greensboro  and  Claremont.     In  all  of  these 


114  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

places  he  was  made  welcome  and,  for  a  hundred  years 
and  more,  men  have  been  telling  of  these  visits. 

Sometimes  David  rode  him  to  "raising  parties,"  where 
he  stood  one  side  and  watched  strong  young  men  lift 
the  ponderous  bents  for  the  barn  or  house  about  to  be 
built.  They  used  pike-poles,  and  shouted  loudly,  lifting 
the  bents  one  by  one  till  the  tenons  sank  into  place  in 
the  sill-mortises ;  then,  some  dare-devil  afraid-of-nothing, 
went  up  the  new-hoisted  bents  like  a  squirrel  and  drove 
the  pins  into  place. 

While  men  worked  this  way,  or  at  the  plow,  women 
sat  at  home  and  dipped  candles  or  spun  and  wove  flax 
and  wool,  and  made  them  into  clothes. 

Those  were  grand  days  in  Vermont — when  neighbors 
were  neighbors,  and  the  world  was  full  of  hope  and 
kindliness. 

At  this  time  Samuel  Goss  owned  a  newspaper  called 
The  Montpelier  Watchman,  and  in  its  columns  could  be 
found  notices  of  the  endurance,  beauty  and  gentleness 
of  the  Goss— but  far  from  turning  his  level  head,  it  only 
made  him  strive  harder  to  deserve  the  praise.  Modestly 
and  cheerfully  he  went  his  way  as  farm-horse,  saddle- 
horse,  carriage-horse ;  always  endearing  himself  to  every 
one  associated  with  him.  It  was  his  perfect  training  and 
his  willingness  to  obey  that  was  ever  the  secret  of  suc- 
cess of  Justin  Morgan.* 

By  this  time  Montpelier  was  growing  so  prosperous, 
being  made  the  capital  in  1808,  that  people  began  to 
think  more  of  pleasure  parties,  and  bees  of  all  sorts  were 
held.  History  gives  the  credit  to  Mistress  Debbie 
Daphne  Davis  for  inventing  pumpkin  pies,  without  a 
goodly  supply  of  which  no  company  was  considered  com- 

*  "In  the  relations,  duties,  and  pleasures  of  the  road — and 
family-horse  the  Morgan  has  never  had  an  equal  in  this  country, 
no  matter  what  his  blood." — Juhn  Wallace,  Wallace's  Monthly. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  115 

plete.  Even  Goss  had  his  share  of  these,  for  every  one 
paid  him  attentions  when  he  waited  outside  a  house  for 
his  rider.  He  found  the  pies  very  palatable,  for  at  the 
kitchen  windows  of  his  women  friends  he  had  learned 
to  appreciate  many  concoctions  not  usually  known  to 
horses. 

Sometimes  a  lady  rode  him  to  meeting  in  St.  Johns- 
bury.*  The  meeting  house  was  little  larger  than  his 
stall,  and  from  where  he  waited  he  could  hear  the 
preacher  shouting  forth  healthy  doctrine  in  liberal  meas- 
ure w^ith  a  strong  flavor  of  brimstone.  After  this  the 
congregation  would  rise,  noisily,  as  with  relief,  and  sing 
a  hymn  at  the  tops  of  their  voices.  Sometimes  they 
sang  "]\Iear,"  which  ever  reminded  Morgan  of  the  Ran- 
dolph singing-teacher  who  had  been  his  good  friend,  and 
whose  name  he  once  bore. 

Vermonters  were  real  Christians  in  those  days  and 
regulations  regarding  the  keeping  of  the  Holy  Sabbath 
were  enforced  by  tithing-men  who  walked  among  the 
people  during  Meeting  to  see  that  they  behaved  them- 
selves in  a  seemly  manner.  If  any  one  was  caught  asleep 
or  inattentive,  and  a  Christian  whack  over  the  head  with 
a  hymn-book  did  not  waken  him  to  a  fitting  sense  of  his 
responsibilities,  a  committee  of  Selectmen  ''waited"  upon 
him  the  next  day  with  results  entirely  satisfactory. 

Such  visits,  however,  were  uncommon.  The  pioneers 
of  Vermont  were  a  law-abiding  people,  honest,  thrifty, 
religious  and  possessing  all  the  virtues  that  go  to  make 
up  a  strong,  fine  race. 

That  same  year,  1808,  Goss  found  himself  in  Burling- 

*  "I  have  always  admired  the  Morgans.  I  believe  that  no  family 
of  horses  has  ever  been  produced  which  possesses  in  a  high 
degree  so  many  valuable  qualities  which  go  to  make  up  an  ideal 
gentleman's  roadster,  a  family,  or  all-purpose  horse,  as  the  family 
founded  by  Justin  Morgan." — 6^.  JV.  Parliii,  Editor,  American 
Horse  Breeder. 


ii6  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

ton  for  a  time,  and  had  an  adventure  known  in  the  his- 
tory of  Vermont,  although  his  name  has  never  before 
been  recorded  in  connection  with  it. 

One  evening  he  went,  under  the  saddle  of  a  revenue 
officer,  bent  on  a  secret  mission,  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Winooski. 

Chill  and  darkness  settled  on  the  forest,  stars  came 
out  and  they  tarried  at  the  farm  of  Ira  Allen,  at  Rocky 
Point,  until  the  great  yellow  moon  swam  into  sight  and 
other  officers  joined  them. 

Leaves  rustled  softly  as  they  started  out  through  the 
woods,  an  owl  hooted  solemnly,  and  from  somewhere  far 
off  a  whippoorwill  called. 

A  short  ride  brought  them  to  rugged  rocks  and  rude 
cliffs  overhanging  the  river,  in  the  then  almost  untouched 
forest,  where  Goss  was  left  behind  a  sheltering  boulder. 

In  a  few  moments  he  distinctly  saw  a  boat  floating 
on  the  quiet  bosom  of  the  water.  The  far-flung  sound  of 
men's  voices  came  to  him  borne  on  the  slight  wind  that 
sighed  in  the  treetops.  It  was  an  inexpressibly  lonely 
spot,  and  Goss  shuddered  once  with  a  feeling  of  impend- 
ing tragedy. 

Having  heard  much  talk  of  the  Smuggler — ''Black 
Snake'' — for  which  the  Government  had  been  watching 
so  long — with  rum,  brandy,  and  wines  on  board — it  was 
not  hard  for  him  to  guess  why  the  officers  were  here. 

As  the  vessel  hove  to,  shadowy  figures  dropped  from 
her  side  and  began  unloading  kegs  and  indistinguish- 
able objects.  For  a  time  deathly  stillness  reigned.  Ever 
responsive  to  influences,  Goss  breathed  softly,  and  did 
not  sneeze.  The  officers  stepped  as  lightly  as  cats,  brac- 
ing themselves. 

Suddenly  there  was  the  crackle  of  a  musket  from  the 
bank,  followed  by  others,  then  the  boat  answered,  shot 
for  shot.     The  woods  blazed — the  echoes  woke.     Bullets 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  117 

whistled  through  the  trees  above  the  horse,  but  he 
neither  flinched  nor  whinneyed  as  the  scattered  leaves 
fell  about  him.  After  a  while,  quivering  with  subdued 
excitement,  he  strained  his  neck  forward  with  dilating 
nostrils — he  hoped  it  was  a  battle ! 

And  it  was — in  a  small  way. 

A  man,  poised  on  the  deck  of  the  "Black  Snake," 
swayed  and  pitched  head-first  into  the  river  and  sank 
beneath  the  dark  water.  There  were  oaths  and  cries, 
then  the  "Black  Snake"  gathered  sail  and  sped  before 
the  rising  wind  down  the  river  and  out  of  sight,  fol- 
lowed by  a  volley  of  musketry. 

This  was  but  one  of  the  many  episodes  of  that  border 
State,  Vermont,  which  gave  her  an  atmosphere  of  ad- 
venture and  filled  her  young  men  with  courage  and  her 
women  with  that  quality  of  coolness  which  faces  life 
and  its  cares  unflinchingly. 

A  Httle  later  Goss  saw  several  men  advancing,  tired, 
silent  and  grim.  They  were  mountain  men  and  stern, 
they  had  not  much  to  say,  but  they  bore  between  them 
the  lifeless  body  of  the  officer  who  had  so  lately  been 
the  horse's  pleasant  rider. 

Goss  shivered  as  they  placed  their  burden  across  his 
back. 

As  they  set  out  wearily  toward  Burlington  between 
crag  and  tree  the  dawn  showed,  coming  over  the  moun- 
tain, spreading  long  shafts  of  crimson  on  the  placid  lake. 
Tahawas,  towering  above  the  former  domains  of  the 
Iroquois  Indians,  reared  his  lofty  head  dimly  in  the  dis- 
tance through  the  dispersing  mists. 

Slowly  they  went  through  the  forest  over  thick  pine 
needles  which  deadened  their  steps,  through  vague  shad- 
owy dells  where  ferns  grew  rank  and  cool  streams 
trickled ;  on  through  the  pathless  woods  until  finally  they 
reached  a  farm-clearing,  in  the  centre  of  which,  set  in  a 


ii8  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

frame  of  apples  trees,  stood  a  long,  low  house.  Rever- 
ently the  men  lifted  the  burden  from  the  horse's  back, 
and,  with  lowered  heads  and  measured  tread,  they  bore 
it  into  the  house. 

Goss  waited  patiently.  He  heard  a  robin  singing  in  an 
apple  tree  among  the  rustling  leaves.  He  watched  a 
hairy  woodpecker  run  up  the  side  of  a  tree,  using  his 
bill  as  a  pick-axe  and  scaling  off  bits  of  bark  sideways 
as  he  ran,  disturbing  a  squirrel  who  sprang  nimbly  from 
limb  to  limb.  A  meadow-lark  dipped  across  the  sky  over 
level  fields  of  delicious  beans,  maize  and  scjuashes ;  a 
partridge  called  from  the  distance  and  fleecy  clouds 
floated  across  the  now  full-risen  sun  casting  long  shad- 
ows on  the  lake,  like  the  spirit  of  Hiawatha's  white  canoe 
— to  the  southward  grim  Regiohne,  gloomy  sentinel  of 
rock,  kept  guard.  Around  all  the  fine  frame  of  mountains 
ranged. 

In  the  golden  morning  sunshine  Nature  glowed  with 
happiness.  Then  all  at  once  a  low  sound  came  to  Goss's 
pricking  ears,  the  sound  of  a  woman  weeping,  and  a 
shadow  fell  across  the  doorway,  as  of  an  angel's  wing. 


The  Goss  horse  played  his  part,  too,  in  many  fine  af- 
fairs. The  following  year  at  the  inauguration  of  the 
Preacher-Governor,  Jonas  Galusha,  he  had  the  honor  of 
carrying  the  newly-elected  Chief  Magistrate  in  the  grand 
parade.  Crowds  shouted  and  cheered  as  they  passed, 
drums  were  beaten  and  guns  fired.  Goss  was  almost 
as  much  noticed  as  the  Governor  himself ! 

The  Executive  spoke  in  the  town  hall,  outside  which 
the  horse  waited.  Goss  could  hear  the  applause  now  and 
then,  and  when  the  speech  was  finished  a  wag  cried  out : 

"Now  let's  sing  'Mear' !" 

Every  one  knew  that  "Mear"  was  the  Governor's  fa- 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  119 

vorite  hymn,  but  instead  of  singing,  as  Goss  hoped  they 
would,  an  outburst  of  laugher  greeted  the  suggestion, 
and  the  crowd  poured  noisily  out  into  the  street  once 
more. 

Goss  had  a  good  time  that  day  prancing  to  the  music 
and  showing  off.  His  enjoyment  of  such  gay  doings  al- 
ways made  him  popular  with  the  men,  yet  so  gentle 
was  he  that  women  constantly  borrowed  him  to  ride  to 
meetings,  quiltings,  bees,  or  funerals. 

At  Burlington  in  this  same  year,  1809,  the  launching 
of  the  steamboat  "Vermont"  (of  which  they  had  talked 
so  long)  took  place.  The  ''Vermont"  had  been  built 
second  to  the  "Clermont"  (launched  on  the  Hudson, 
about  two  years  before),  but  an  unavoidable  delay  made 
her  the  fifth  steamboat  to  be  launched. 

At  great  expense  this  passenger  steamer  had  been  built 
and  was  to  run  from  White  Hall  to  St.  Johns  in  twenty- 
four  hours !  It  was  almost  too  much  to  ask  the  people 
to  believe,  said  the  newspapers  !  One  and  all  they  pre- 
dicted failure.  Steamboats  in  those  days  occupied  much 
the  same  place  in  the  estimation  of  the  people  as  air- 
ships did  a  hundred  years  later.  Many  called  it  a  foolish 
waste  of  money,  and  dangerous  withal,  but  John  Winans, 
who  made  the  boat,  was  confident  it  would  mark  an 
epoch  in  history. 

Larger  and  finer  than  the  "Clermont,''  the  success  of 
the  "Vermont"  on  Lake  Champlain  does  not  concern  our 
hero. 

The  streets  were  crowded  with  passengers  from  the 
mail  coaches ;  the  Foote  House  was  taxed  to  capacity ; 
four-,  six-  and  eight-horse  teams,  with  now  and  then  a 
Canadian  spike-team,  blocked  the  thoroughfares. 

Into  this  atmosphere  of  excitement  and  interest  David 
and  Goss  cantered  early  that  morning,  and  put  up  at  the 
house  of  Mr.  Loomis.     This  historic  house  had  sheltered 


1^0  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

His  Royal  Highness,  Edward,  Duke  of  Kent,  who,  in 
the  year  1793,  was  travelhng  with  his  suite  in  sleighs 
from  Boston  to  Canada.  It  was  built  of  logs  hewn  out 
with  a  broad-axe  and  made  a  most  warm  and  fitting 
place  for  so  great  a  personage  to  tarry  in,  not  less  com- 
fortable did  our  two  more  humble  friends  find  it  sixteen 
years  later. 

Nothing  eventful  occurred  after  the  launching  of  the 
boat  except  that  Goss  met  a  horse  from  Maryland,  who 
gave  him  news  of  Mistress  Lloyd,  now  married  to  an 
army  officer,  known  as  the  dashing  Lieutenant  Tom  Du- 
laney. 

The  Southern  horse  told  him  also  of  the  lately  opened 
Baltimore  course  and  of  the  great  race  there  between 
Mr.  Ogle's  Oscar  and  First  Consul,  and  how  Oscar  ran 
the  second  heat  in  the  extraordinary  time  of  7  40,  a 
speed  that  had  never  been  exceeded  for  the  same  dis- 
tance, and  which  seemed  almost  a  miracle ! 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  121 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

IN   THE   FLOOD  OF    181I. 

In  181 1  Samuel  Stone  bought  the  Httle  horse  and 
changed  his  name  back  to  Morgan.  Once  more  he 
went  to  Hve  in  Randolph,  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
his  early  triumphs. 

There  had  been  many  changes  in  the  town,  and  nearly 
all  his  old  friends  had  moved  away  or  outgrown  their 
interest  in  tests  of  strength  and  speed.  Only  one  of 
them  was  left,  James  Kelsey,  and  he,  being  fond  of 
horses,  often  rode  Morgan  from  place  to  place  for  Stone. 

Kelsey  was  called  the  village  ''cut-up,"  though  he  was 
no  longer  a  boy,  but  he  had  a  kind  heart  and  was  the 
friend  of  every  one.  Sometimes  he  rode  the  Morgan 
alongside  the  stage-coaches  and  thrilled  the  passengers 
with  stories  of  pioneer  times;  of  bears,  and  Indians. 

One  day,  as  they  were  nearing  Tunbridge,  Kelsey  told 
them  of  the  burning  of  that  place  by  three  hundred  In- 
dians, who  swept  down  from  the  north  under  the  com- 
mand  of  a  British   soldier,   Lieutenant  Horton. 

This  reference  to  the  British  reminded  Morgan  of  his 
old  enemy,  the  Tory  boy,  whose  dog  had  killed  Black 
Baby.  The  boy  must  now  have  reached  man's  estate, 
and  Morgan  wondered  if  he  would  recognize  him  if  he 
saw  him,  and  if  Allah  was  pfanning  an  opportunity  for 
him  to  give  his  promised  kick.  In  all  these  years  he  had 
never  forgotten  his  vow. 

Kelsey  was  a  very  skillful  rider,  and  could  do  wonder- 
ful things  from  a  horse's  back,  which  Morgan  enjoyed, 


122  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

for  it  showed  off  his  smooth  and  easy  gaits.  Sometimes, 
after  sHpping  off  his  heavy  boots  and  tying  them  to  his 
stirrup,  he  would  spring  to  his  feet  on  the  horse's  back, 
and  stand  balancing  himself  while  Morgan  glided  evenly 
along  under  him ;  or,  riding  hard,  he  would  stoop  and 
pick  up  a  stone  or  stick ;  or,  if  there  chanced  to  be  a 
pretty  flower  beside  the  road,  he  would  set  the  horse 
running  and  lean  swiftly  down,  pluck  the  flower,  and 
wait  for  the  coach  to  catch  up,  that  he  might  hand  it  to 
some  lady  passenger,  with  a  bow  and  sweep  of  his  hat. 

One  of  his  anecdotes,  which  always  brought  a  laugh 
from  the  passengers — especially  if  they  were  from  New 
York — was  how  the  tract  of  land,  now  known  as  Ver- 
mont, was  granted  to  Dominie  Dillius,  of  Albany,  in 
1696,  for  the  "annuall  rente  of  one  racoon  skinne." 

*'The  New  York  legislature,"  Kelsey  always  finished, 
"later  called  this  'rente'  excessive!'' 

During  that  spring  there  came  a  scourge  of  locusts. 
They  ate  up  the  trees  and  ah  green  things.  Wise  old 
women  declared  them  a  sign  of  coming  disaster — disas- 
ter enough  they  were  of  themselves  !  With  their  stri- 
dent cries  they  drowned  the  prayers  of  the  Righteous 
who  sat  in  meeting  praying  to  be  delivered  from  them 
and  their  consequences. 

One  day  at  noon  a  darkness  fell  over  everything; 
cocks  crew ;  pigs  squealed ;  cows  came  home,  lowing ; 
dogs  howled,  dismally;  and  cats  mewed,  distressingly. 

Morgan,  sensitive  to  all  influences,  shivered  and 
moaned,   softly. 

One  of  the  most  fearsome  calamities  in  the  history  of 
Vermont  was,  indeed,  about  to  descend. 

Masses  of  clouds  rose  and  blotted  out  the  sun ;  the 
storm  came  closer ;  thunder  crashed ;  the  wind  howled ; 
rain  began  to  fall. 

Day   after  day  lightning   flashed,   thunder  jarred   the 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  123 

earth,  and  the  rain  fell  unceasingly.     There  seemed  no 
end  to  it ! 

Creek  and  river  beds  lost  all  identity ;  mountains  were 

obscured  in  the  downpour.    In  lowlands,  beaver  meadows 

and    swampy    places    the   water    rose,    and   kept    rising. 

Mountain  streams  became  torrents,  creeks  became  rivers. 

It  was  a  deluge! 

Birds,  drenched  through  their  feathers,  starved  and 
fell  to  the  earth,  chilled  to  death;  insects  were  washed 
out  of  the  air;  late-hatched  broods  of  wild  ducks  were 
drowned  and  the  eggs  of  wild-fowl  floated  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  waters. 

Weasels,  stoats  and  such  creatures  as  could  swim 
reached  higher  ground  and  for  a  short  time  saved  their 
lives.  Cattle,  which  had  sought  slightly  dryer  quarters 
on  hillocks,  were  drowned  as  they  called  aloud,  piteously, 
for  help.  Field-mice,  rabbits  and  moles  were  suffocated 
in  the  rain-sodden  earth.  Foxes  climbed  into  bushes  to 
await  the  going  down  of  the  waters  and  were  drowned, 
or  starved  to  death,  waiting. 

This  was  the  year  men  praised  the  Lord  for  direct- 
ing them  to  build  their  towns  on  hills,  for  they  were 
thus  above  the  valley  floods  that  poured  towards  the 
Connecticut  or  the  lake.  But  all  about  their  homes  the 
pine-needles  and  underbrush  held  the  w^ater  like  a 
sponge. 

On  one  of  the  very  worst  nights  of  the  "flood"  Samuel 
Stone  set  out  to  help  a  neighbor  rescue  his  cattle. 

Stone  apologized  to  Morgan  for  taking  him  out  on 
such  a  night,  with  thunder  and  lightning  so  terrible. 

"  Tis  hard  to  go  out  in  such  weather,  Pony,  but  we 
must  help  our  neighbors  in  their  troubles,  else  when  we 
are  in  straits  they  will  not  come  to  us  !" 

The  dense  blackness  and  silence  that  followed  the  rapid 
flashes   of  orange   lightning   and   roaring   thunder— and 


124  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

his  natural  terror  of  storms — confused  Morgan's  sight 
and  hearing. 

Fortunately,  however,  he  had  never  had  rheumatism, 
nor  stiffness  of  any  kind,  and  his  reluctance  to  leave  his 
leaky  stable  was  counteracted  by  his  desire  to  do  his 
duty  bravely. 

Trusting  blindly  in  his  master's  judgment,  he  can- 
tered off. 

The  wind  blew  and  whistled  like  evil  spirits,  the 
swaying  trees  bent  almost  to  the  ground,  but  at  last  they 
reached  the  neighbor's  house  and  succeeded  in  saving  his 
terrified  cattle,  though  with  great  difficulty.  Afterwards 
the  neighbor  besought  them  to  pass  the  night,  but  Stone 
refused,  saying  that,  "by  morning  the  bridges  would  all 
be  gone  and  they  must  be  getting  home-along  before 
that  happened !'' 

Hurriedly  partaking  of  a  hot  supper  in  the  leaking 
kitchen,  near  a  sputtering  fire,  and  after  giving  Morgan 
a  good,  warm  mash.  Stone  mounted  and  rode  away  into 
the  storm  and  night. 

Darkness  fell  about  them  like  a  blanket;  there  was 
nothing  for  the  rider  to  do  but  leave  it  to  his  horse's  in- 
stinct and  sense  of  direction  to  take  him  home. 

Not  once  did  Justin  Morgan  hesitate. 

Very  soon,  by  the  roar  of  water  the  horse  knew  they 
were  near  Beaver  Creek,  a  torrent,  rising  high  in  the 
mountains,  and  gathering  strength  as  it  raced  and  tore 
to  the  valley  through  narrow  gorges,  was  now  a  raging 
cataract.  In  crossing  this  stream  earlier,  Morgan  had 
perceived  that  the  bridge  could  not  last  much  longer; 
he  had  felt  the  timbers  tremble  under  his  tread. 

Now,  several  hours  later,  he  could  hear  the  current, 
more  angry  than  before,  whirling  its  mass  of  foam  and 
debris  against  the  banks.  As  they  reached  the  place 
where  the  bridge  ought  to  have  been  not  a  ray  of  star- 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  125 

light  showed  Stone  it  was  no  longer  there.  But  invol- 
untarily, he  refrained  from  guiding  or  sug'gesting  to 
the  horse  any  course  of  action.  The  reins  lay  loose  even 
when  Morgan  paused  at  the  brink  of  the  torrent. 

Leaning  forward,  Stone  patted  the  horse's  neck  gently, 
and  said  in  a  soothing  voice : 

"Steady,  Boy,  steady !" 

Morgan  responded. 

He  could  see  with  his  keen  eyes,  the  white,  turbid 
water,  below  the  very  place  where  the  bridge  had  been — 
one  stringer  alone  of  the  structure  remained,  and  this 
was  scarce  above  the  violent  current !  The  rushing, 
churning  water  swirled  against  the  banks  impetuously. 

Cautiously,  the  horse  tried  the  wide  beam  with  one 
foot.  Feelino-  it  secure,  he  tried  another ;  in  the  inkv 
darkness,  he  pushed  his  feet  along  gently,  lest  he  step 
on   an  upstanding  nail. 

Steadily,  firmly,  without  wavering,  without — above  all 
— interference  from  his  rider,  he  went  on  over  the  spin- 
ning foam  on  his  narrow  foot-bridge. 

At  last  he  put  his  foot  on  solid  ground  and,  with  a 
slight,  throaty  sound  of  relief,  he  cantered  briskly  off 
toward  home. 

As  they  neared  the  house  he  whinneyed,  as  was  his 
custom,  and  Mistress  Stone  threw  open  the  door  and 
stood  silhouetted  against  the  radiance  from  within.  The 
glow  of  firelight  penetrated  the  darkness,  and  from  a 
guttering  candle,  held  high  above  her  head,  a  tiny  beam 
of  welcome  went  out  to  her  good  man. 

"Oh,  Samuel,"  she  cried,  right  joyfully,  "  'tis  a  great 
comfort  to  hear  your  voice--  again  !  By  what  road  came 
you  back?" 

"By  Beaver  Creek  Road,  wife,"  he  made  answer. 

"But,  look  you,  the  bridge  is  gone — how  crossed  you 
the  creek?" 


126  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

*'By  the  bridge,  all  the  same — 'twas  not  gone  five  min- 
utes ago." 

''But,  indeed,  'tis  washed  away  a  long  time  since,"  his 
wife  cried,  in  amazement,  "for  James  Kelsey  came  by 
these  two  hours  agone  and  told  me  he  had  but  just 
crossed  in  time.  Scarce  had  he  landed  on  this  side  when 
there  was  a  great  crashing  and  grinding  of  timbers  and 
the  whole  thing  was  swept  away  before  his  very  eyes ! 
He  saw  by  a  flash  of  lightning — all  went  but  one  stringer 
which  was  wedged  against  the  rocks  at  either  end !" 

And,  marvelling  together,  they  fed  the  "pony"  as  be- 
fitted a  hero,  though  Morgan  looked  upon  it  as  but  an 
incident  in  the  day's  work  and  went  about  his  delicious 
supper  with  placid  forgetfulness  of  all  else. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  127 


CHAPTER  XVni. 


UNDER  CAPTAIN  DULANEY. 


Then  one  day  the  sun  rose  clear  and  bright,  the  waters 
sank  and  the  mountains  showed  clean-cut  against  the 
fleckless  sky — but  no  bees  buzzed,  no  sweet  odors  filled 
the  air,  no  wild  flowers  carpeted  the  woods,  no  butter- 
flies fluttered,  no  birds  sang. 

Vermont  tasted  that  year  the  bitter  cup  of  desolation. 

A  dire  scourge  of  spotted  fever,  or  "plague,"  the  doc- 
tors called  it,  broke  out,  severest  in  ]\Iontpelier.  Con- 
sternation was  great  among  the  Sabbath-abiding  folk 
who  claimed  solemnly  that  the  affliction  was  due  to  the 
worldly  ways  and  ''flunk  and  flummux"  of  the  "foreign- 
ers" who  came  from  other  states  to  pass  the  summer  in 
the  Green  Mountains.  Even  the  women  of  \^ermont, 
themselves,  had  taken  to  wearing  laces,  ribbands,  frills 
and  furbelows — most  unbecoming  in  God-fearing  fe- 
males ! 

Stagnant  water  stood  in  pools,  here  and  there,  houses 
were  damp,  there  were  no  crops,  and  all  food  was  mouldy 
and  unwholesome,  for  lack  of  sunshine. 

In  Alontpelier  men  went  from  house  to  house,  carrying 
long  bathing  vessels,  and  such  of  the  women  as  had  not 
yet  been  attacked  with  the  '^plague"  bathed  the  stricken 
ones  in  an  infusion  of  hemlock  boughs.  Doctors  bled 
them  and  dosed  them  with  teas  more  or  less  harmful 
made  of  ginseng,  pleurisy-root  and  marshmallow.  Fresh 
air,   sunshine  and  pure  water  with  proper  nourishment 


128  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

would  have  been  better,  but  in  those  days  bleeding  and 
herb-teas  were  the  two  panaceas  for  all  ills. 

In  Williston,  Dame  Susannah  Wells,  who  had  reached 
the  ripe  age  of  one  hundred  and  four  years  and  seen  her 
descendants  die  year  after  year  of  old  age — without 
warning  fell  ill  with  the  plague  and  died.  Had  it  not 
been  for  this  her  acquaintances  had  long  since  come  to 
the  conclusion  she  would  have  lived  forever.  Children 
and  babies  were  mowed  down  with  equal  impartiality  by 
the  Reaper;  men  and  women  succumbed;  but  Alorgan's 
hardihood  saved  him  from  any  ill  effects  of  the  long,  wet 
season. 

Events  in  his  life,  following  1811,  were  not  of  great 
importance  and  may  be  passed  over  until  Stone  put  him 
up  for  sale  in  Burlington,  at  the  stable  of  the  Rev.  Daniel 
Clark  Sanders,  President  of  the  fine  College  on  the  hill. 
There  he  stayed  for  a  long  time,  as  he  was  growing  old, 
they  said,  and  no  one  wanted  to  buy  him.  President  San- 
ders was  quite  willing,  for  he  had  the  use  and  care  of 
him  all  that  while.  Now  and  then  Stone  came  to  the 
stable  with  a  prospective  buyer,  but  a  trade  was  never 
consummated. 

As  a  convenient  dooryard  Ira  Allen  had  given  a  space 
of  fifty  acres  around  the  College,  called  The  Green.  It 
was  still  full  of  stumps  and  piles  of  brush,  but  made  a 
delightful  place  for  the  cows  and  horses  of  the  town  to 
graze,  and  here  Morgan  had  many  agreeable  experi- 
ences. 

The  merry  students,  passing  by,  gave  him  friendly 
greeting  always  and  a  dainty  of  some  kind  from  their 
lunches  ;  he  learned  to  know  the  whistle  of  many  and 
whinneyed  to  them  as  they  ran  toward  him. 

Often,  as  he  stood  nibbling  grass  he  saw  a  strange 
looking  youth  limp  across  the  Green  with  never  a  nod  or 
greeting  for  him  or  any  one  else.     Absorbed,  stern  of 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  129 

expression,  and  morose,  this  lad  was  destined  to  rise  to 
prominence,  the  like  of  which  could  not  be  foreseen  in 
one  without  influence,  the  son  of  a  poor,  hard  working 
widow.  This  lame  boy  was  none  other  than  young 
Thaddeus  Stevens,  who,  by  industry  and  perseverance, 
gained  his  book-learning  in  Burlington  and  later  gradu- 
ated at  Dartmouth   College. 

Burlington  was  now  a  very  different  place  from  the 
logging  camp  Morgan  first  remembered.  The  old 
wharf,  made  of  a  few  logs  fastened  together,  at  the  foot 
of  King's  Street,  had  given  way  to  a  fine  new  one; 
houses  had  taken  the  place  of  camps  and  were  scattered 
as  far  as  the  Winooski. 

The  College  on  the  Hill,  commanding  the  lake,  gave 
distinction  to  the  town,  seeming  to  crown  it  with  a  cap 
of  learning;  Ira  Allen's  iron  foundries,  mills  and  forges 
gave  work  to  many,  and  linen,  woolen  and  cotton  mills 
had  been  built ;  an  immense  quantity  of  liquor  was  dis- 
tilled. It  was  a  busy  and  prosperous  town,  having 
grown  greatly  in  importance  since  Ira  Allen  launched 
his  first  schooner,  "Liberty/'  a  long  while  before. 

One  day  Stone  brought  to  the  stable  an  army  officer. 
The  military  hat  was  set  well  upon  the  handsome  head 
of  the  stranger,  a  cloak  was  flung  with  careless  grace 
about  his  shoulder ;  spurs  shone  on  his  heels  and  a  sword 
clanked,  musically,  at  his  side. 

Intuitively,  Morgan  liked  this  man.  It  was  easy  to  see 
he  was  a  fine,  brave  American  soldier,  with  a  cool  and 
level  head.  His  uniform  was  grand  and  inspiring  to  the 
horse,  who  still  looked  upon  soldiers  and  the  idea  of  war 
with  quivering  anticipation. 

"So  this  is  the  horse,  eh?"  the  officer  asked  Stone,  and 
Morgan  knew  by  his  soft  tone  and  speech  that  he  came 
from  the  same  state  as  Mistress  Lloyd — there  was  no 
mistaking  a   Marylander !     As  the   stranger  caught  the 


130  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

halter  his  touch  was  so  firm  and  friendly  the  horse  knew 
instantly  that  here  was  his  master.  He  arched  his  crest, 
pawed  the  ground  prettily,  and  thrust  his  large,  sensitive 
nostrils  forward. 

Stone  led  him  out  into  the  bright  sunshine ;  the  officer 
examined  him  thoroughly — an  operation  Morgan  had 
long  since  grown  accustomed  to,  as  he  had  changed 
owners  so  often. 

A  flame  of  friendship  sprang  up  between  the  two. 

'T  can  scarce  credit  his  age  to  be  twenty-two!"  said 
the  stranger.  "He  has  such  suppleness  of  joint,  he 
moves  with  the  action  of  a  five-year-old !" 

Stone  was  pleased  and  proud  of  his  horse;  he  said: 

"Those  are  his  characteristics,  Captain  Dulaney!" 

Dulaney?     Morgan's  memory  awoke,  vaguely. 

"And  from  what  stock,  did  you  say?"  the  officer  en- 
quired. 

Stone  let  him  know  all  that  was  said  concerning  Mor- 
gan's parentage.     Then  he  continued: 

"He  has  worked  hard  at  the  plow,  most  of  his  life,  and 
he  is  not  known  in  horse-books,  but  we  Vermonters  don't 
take  much  interest  in  pedigrees.  We  say,  'pretty  is  as 
pretty  does'  and  present  merit  is  what  we  go  by,  Cap- 
tain— not  what  his  ancestors  did !" 

The  Maryland  gentleman  laughed,  seeing  the  point. 

"Blood  speaks  for  itself,  right  here,"  Captain  Dulaney 
said.  "I  will  wager  my  new  sword  that  this  horse  has 
thoroughbred  blood!  So  you  see  your  argument  about 
pedigree  does  not  hold !" 

Morgan  waved  his  tail  slightly,  in  acknowledgment. 

"I  like  the  animal,"  added  the  Captain,  in  his  quiet, 
pleasant  way.     "I  would  mount  him,  sir." 

In  ten  minutes  Morgan  was  accoutred  in  the  military 
trappings  and  saddle  of  an  officer  of  the  United  States 
Army.     It  was  with   a  thrill   that  he   felt   the   Captain 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  131 

throw  his  fine-dressed  leg  across  his  back  and  sHp  his 
cavalry-booted  feet  into  the  stirrups — all  the  while  hold- 
ing the  reins  in  his  masterful  hand.  A  mutual  confi- 
dence was  awakened  between  the  two  that  was  to  last 
always. 

Morgan,  feeling  as  young  as  he  did  ten  years  before, 
cantered  smoothly  ofif,  side-stepping  just  enough  to  give 
his  rider  something  to  do. 

Down  the  hill  they  went,  the  horse  as  sure-footed  as 
a  goat,  feeling  that  he  had  never  carried  so  dashing  and 
gallant  a  rider  nor  so  congenial  a  spirit,  and  right  glad 
was  he  to  respond  to  every  gentle  pressure  of  the  bit 
or  motion  of  the  rein. 

At  the  turn  of  the  trail  they  came  to  a  stone  fence.  At 
his  rider's  suggestion  Morgan  paused  slightly,  pulled 
himself  together,  rose  in  the  air  and  cleared  it.  Over  a 
rushing  little  stream  he  went  in  the  same  confident,  bird- 
like way,  galloping  easily  off  as  he  touched  the  ground 
on  the  other  side. 

The  blue  sky  was  reflected  in  the  lake,  and  the  moun- 
tains in  New  York  pierced  it,  in  reality,  or  reflection, 
with  peaks  of  green  and  brown.  The  air  was  still  and 
pure  and  the  cool  scent  of  the  pines  was  strong  in  theii 
nostrils.  The  haze  of  the  morning  had  given  place  to  a 
crystal  clearness  and  Juniper  Island  was  like  a  spot  of 
precious  jade  set  in  a  field  of  turquoise. 

They  were  on  the  way  to  the  Falls  at  a  smart  gallof 
now,  and  what  his  rider  intimated  to  the  horse  along 
the  bridle-rein  gave  him  courage  and  love  combined  with 
perfect  understanding.  At  a  convenient  spot  the\ 
stopped,  and  Captain  Dulaney  spoke  aloud. 

"Ah,  my  fine  fellow  !"  Morgan  flicked  his  tail  in  reply, 
and  tossed  his  mane  slightly — with  an  up  and  down  mo- 
tion once  or  twice  of  his  crest  as  was  his  habit  when 
spoken  to,  directly — "Ah,  my  fine  fellow,  this  air  makes 


132  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

one  breathe  deeply.  There's  no  cHmate  hke  it.  No 
wonder  these  Vermonters  are  giants  morally  and  physic- 
ally. No  wonder  the  Green  ]\Iountain  Boys  could  take 
Ticonderoga!  A  handful  of  men  bred  in  this  air  are 
worth  all  the  city-bred  officers  in  the  British  Army. 
And  forsooth,  they  proved  it!  Ha!  Ha!  If  it  comes 
to  an  attack  by  water  from  Canada  on  the  lake,  here,  we 
have  a  superabundance  of  trained  officers  and  men." 

He  dismounted  and  spread  a  map  on  the  ground, 
weighting  the  corners  with  pink  and  red  fragments  of 
stones  picked  up  at  random.  Had  he  known  it,  these 
were  pieces  of  marble,  later  to  make  that  locality  fa- 
mous, when  the  quarries  were  discovered. 

In  silence  he  studied  the  map,  the  bridle  rein  hanging 
across  his  arm.  Then  he  folded  it,  sprang  suddenly  into 
the  saddle  and  continued  his  thinking  aloud  as  they 
started  ofif : 

"Now  if  we  could  be  sure  of  the  Vermonters  in  this 
war,  but  they  seem  to  think  fighting  foolish — and  in  this 
they  may  be  right,  eh,  Morgan?  New  England  is  in  a 
ferment,  but  we've  got  to  stick  by  the  President  and 
fight  it  out.  Although  they  call  it  'Mr.  Madison's  War,' 
that  poor  man  is  the  most  unwilling  participant  in  it ! 
The  thing  is  to  find  which  way  the  cat  will  jump  here; 
that's  my  business.  These  secret  emissaries  from  Eng- 
land and  Canada  may  be  right  here  now,  rousing  the 
Vermonters  to  join  Canada.  But  may  be  the  sight  of 
a  good  old  Continental  uniform — God  bless  it ! — may 
bring  them  our  way  !" 

The  lake  glinted  blue  in  the  sunshine,  the  birds  twit- 
tered in  the  forest,  as  they  passed  on  slowly. 

Suddenly  Captain  Dulaney  addressed  the  horse  gaily : 

''Look  at  that  view,  Morgan.  Shall  we  let  a  king 
wrest  it  from  us  ?  No,  I  swear  it !  This  air  is  like 
wine.     Who    would   live  in  towns,   say   I,   with  houses 


FOUNDER    OF   HlS    RACE  133 

crowding,  one  upon  the  other,  peeping  over  each  other's 
heads  to  see  the  narrow  streets  that  He  between?  Not 
I,  for  one.  Give  me  trees  and  sky,  rivers  and  fields,  and 
the  green  country  down  in  Maryland,  'Where  the  Great 
Lloyd  sets  his  Hall.'  " 

Morgan  started.  He  turned  his  straight,  intelligent 
face  full  round  and  looked  at  his  rider.  A  smile,  quick 
and  magnetic,  met  his  dark,  prominent  eye.  Then  a  light 
flooded  his  horse  mind.  No  wonder  he  loved  this  officer ! 
Had  he  not  won  him  for  Mistress  Lloyd  so  long  ago? 
He  remembered  all  now.  From  the  tip  of  his  tail  to  his 
fine,  sharp  ears  he  quivered  with  happiness.  Maybe  after 
a  life-time  of  waiting  he  would  see  her  again ! 

Overhead  the  sky  was  cloudless,  but  suddenly  across 
its  face  came  sweeping  into  view,  over-shadowing  the 
woods  for  a  moment,  a  dense  flock  of  wild  pigeons.  The 
Captain  leaned  forward  and  patted  Morgan's  neck. 

"Just  pigeons,  old  man!  Is  that  why  you  shivered? 
Or  is  there  something  you  want  to  say?" 

But  Morgan  could  not  answer  in  words,  he  could  only 
hope  and  serve.  He  did  wish,  however,  that  Captain 
Dulaney  would  not  call  him  "old" !  He  had  years  of 
usefulness  before  him  yet ! 

'T  wish  my  sweet  wife  were  here  now  to  enjoy  this 
view  with  us !" 

Morgan  repHed  with  a  toss  of  his  head. 
"But  she  is  coming!" 

Morgan  whinneyed,  softly,  and  trembled  all  over. 
"God  bless  her!"  went  on  the  Captain,  his  blue  eyes 
deepening  to  a  light,  wholly  tender,  "She  would  scarce 
consent  to  mv  coming  up  here  without  her.  She  argued 
with  me,  the  witch,  that  Mistress  Washington  had  passed 
the  winter  at  Valley  Forge,  and  she  did  not  love  her 
General  any  more  than  my  wife  loved  her  Captain !  It 
was  a  clinching  argument,  Morgan,  my  friend,  and  I  had 


t34  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

to  promise  that  she  should  come  when  all  was  ready — 
and  there  she  is  waiting  in  Boston  until  I  send  for  her." 

Morgan  tossed  his  head,  and  his  tail  waved  slightly. 

''She  shall  ride  you,  little  horse,  for,  by  my  sword, 
there  never  was  a  more  delightful,  under  the  saddle. 
My  mind  is  made  up,  I  shall  buy  you,  old  as  you  are !" 

There  it  was  again — "As  old  as  you  are."  Age !  what 
has  age  to  do  with  it  if  the  heart  and  spirit  are  young? 

"As  for  these  Vermonters,"  the  Captain  continued, 
thinking  aloud,  and  riding  on,  "they  are  brave,  fine  men 
and  they  will  stand  by  Ethan  Allen's  ideals;  if  war 
comes  they  will  be  with  us.  I've  felt  the  pulse  of  Ver- 
mont from  North  to  South,  and  I  believe  in  them  in 
spite  of  their  reserve  and  non-committal  attitude." 

They  galloped  on  over  rocky,  new-cleared  spaces, 
across  streams  and  fences,  and  pushed  their  way  slowly 
through  underbrush.  When  they  stopped,  Dulaney 
pulled  Morgan's  lean  head  round  and  caught  his  bright, 
pleasant  eye.  The  Captain  winked  at  him  with  a 
chuckle. 

"We'll  win  this  war  yet " 

So  there  was  to  be  a  war !  Morgan's  pupils  dilated, 
his  nostrils  spread. 

"Yes,  we'll  win  this  war,  as  we  did  the  other,"  and 
the  officer  nodded  his  head  with  conviction.  "I  was  but 
a  lad  of  ten,  Morgan,  when  we  heard  of  Cornwallis'  sur- 
render, in  1 78 1.  'Twas  a  crisp  autumn  day  and  I  well 
recall  the  shouting  and  hurrahing,  the  patriotic  acclama- 
tions and  glowing  ardor  of  the  Americans. 

"To-day  we  have  no  Washington,  no  Hamilton,  no 
La  Fayette.  We  can  but  wait  and  see.  But  to  me  it 
seems  a  foregone  conclusion.  We  have  the  larger  ships, 
the  heavier  ordnance,  and  we  are  superior  in  seaman- 
ship  and  gunnery.     Our  vessels  are  few,  but  equipped 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  135 

thoroughly.  Right  will  prevail — and  we  are  right, 
aren't  we,  Morgan?" 

Having  finished  his  somewhat  whimsical  remarks,  he 
wheeled  his  horse  once  more,  and  galloped  toward  Rocky 
Point  where  he  stopped  long — taking  further  observa- 
tions of  lake  and  country,  turning  in  his  saddle  and  gaz- 
ing with  thoughtful  brow  in  every  direction,  scanning 
the  horizon  line,  the  lake,  the  streams,  the  roads. 

Before  the  day  was  done  they  had  skirted  the  rugged 
coast  and  crossed  the  sand-bar  to  La  Grande  Isle.  So 
great  was  the  number  of  salmon  in  those  days  that,  as 
Morgan  waded  knee-deep  in  the  water  among  them,  they 
splashed  away  from  his  feet,  as  if  in  play. 

Squirrels  ran  over  the  ground  on  the  island  and  chat- 
tered down  at  them  from  the  boughs.  Clear  and  deep 
the  blue  lake  lay,  the  woods  coming  to  the  very  edge 
where  poplars  trembled  in  the  clear  light  and  tall, 
straight  white-pines  towered  like  sentinels. 

From  Island  Point  they  could  see  Plattsburg  Harbor, 
and  here  Captain  Dulaney  again  sat  for  a  long  time 
buried  in  thought,  looking  across  the  wild,  dark  forest 
and  lake. 

At  dusk  they  bent  their  faces  homeward,  both  horse 
and  rider  absorbed  in  his  own  meditations  until  they 
reached  College  Hill. 

Early  next  morning  Samuel  Stone  came  to  bid  the 
Morgan  good-bye,  telling  him  he  had  been  bought  by 
Captain  Dulaney,  and  that  he  ' 'was  a  very  lucky  horse !" 
Morgan  knew  this  far  better  than  Stone — wasn't  Mis- 
tress Dulaney  coming,  and  would  he  not  have  the  happi- 
ness of  cantering  under  her^ saddle  once  more? 

But  she  did  not  come  at  once.  During  the  fall  and 
winter  of  1812  and  1813,  the  United  States  troops  ar- 
rived and  were  settled  in  the  College  buildings,  now 
called  United  States  Barracks  for  the  winter. 


136  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Captain  Dulaney  rode  Morg-an  daily  and  taught  him 
to  be  a  true  cavalry  horse  and  to  obey  bugle  calls.  So 
obedient  did  he  become  and  so  conscientious  was  he, 
that,  one  day  when  he  was  attached  to  a  ''shay"  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  he  heard  the  bugle  sound  "Charge." 
He  obeyed  instantly  on  the  impulse,  snapping  his  hitch 
rein  sharply.  Up  the  hill  he  "charged"  at  full  speed,  the 
shay  rattling  on  behind!  'Twas  not  his  fault  that  it 
was  not  shaken  into  bits !  From  a  colt  it  had  been  his 
instinct  to  obey  without  question,  and  certainly,  at  last, 
in  the  service  of  his  country  he  did  not  hesitate ! 

Soldiers,  of¥  duty,  lounging  idly  in  the  shade,  roused 
themselves  with  a  great  roar  of  laughter  as  the  old  horse 
charged  toward  them.  An  orderly  sprang  forward  and 
caught  the  bit.  Not  a  strap,  not  a  tug  was  broken ! 
Every  one  cheered  heartily,  for  "Old  Justin  Morgan" 
had  come  to  be  a  character  at  the  post  and  was  loved 
by  all,  men  as  well  as  officers. 

Time  passed  and  still  Mistress  Dulaney  did  not  come, 
though  every  day  Morgan  looked  for  the  one  great,  hu- 
man love  of  his  life.  He  wondered  if  she  remembered 
him — if  she  recalled  the  part  he  had  played  in  freeing 
her  from  the  Coxcomb,  and  winning  her  the  man  she 
loved. 

In  the  spring  of  1813,  when  the  ice  broke  up,  a  fleet 
was  fitted  out.  Oak  timbers,  cut  on  the  Winooski,  were 
sawed  at  the  mills,  nails  and  bolts  were  fashioned  out  of 
hot  iron  at  the  forges  where  even  the  bellows  breathed 
patriotism.  Masts  and  spars  were  tapered  and  sails 
made.  Liberty  poles  were  set  up  on  eminences — the 
higher  the  pole  the  stronger  the  patriotism.  Everything 
indicated  war. 

Commodore  Macdonough  took  command  of  the  lake 
and  naval  stores  and  ammunition  arrived  from  the 
South.     All  seemed  waiting  for  the  call  to  arms  when 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  137 

an  epidemic  of  Inng-fever  broke  out  among  the  troops 
stationed  at  the  barracks. 

Captain  Dulaney  was  stricken,  and  lay  ill  unto  death 
at  his  quarters.  INIorgan  missed  him  and  pined  for  his 
company. 

A  letter  was  dispatched  to  Mistress  Dulaney,  but  the 
distance  to  Boston  was  so  great  that  a  man  might  die 
before  the  stage  went  and  returned  to  Burlington.  At 
last  when  the  coach  rattled  up,  with  a  great  noise  and 
hurly-burly,  to  the  officer's  quarters  and  stopped,  all 
knew  that  Mistress  Dulaney  was  inside,  and  it  chanced 
that  Morgan  stood  hitched  near-by.  The  steps  were 
quickly  let  down  and  right  quickly  did  she  descend. 

Morgan  recognized  her  at  once;  he  whinneyed  a  note 
of  welcome,  but  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  him ;  she  was 
in  such  stress  of  anxiety. 

She  was  all  his  memory  held  her :  not  so  young,  but 
more  sweet,  more  beautiful  and  a  light  as  of  a  halo  sur- 
rounded her  face  as  they  told  her  the  Captain  was  bet- 
ter. Morgan  saw  all  before  she  put  her  little  foot  to 
the  ground. 

But  as  she  hurried  into  the  house  the  horse  felt  old, 
a  sudden  darkness  fell  upon  the  world,  as  if  a  cloud  had 
obscured  the  sun. 

She  had  not  even  seen  him ! 

He  hung  his  head  and  tears  filled  his  dear,  longing 
eyes.  After  all  these  years  of  waiting  and  loving — and 
she  had  not  even  seen  him ! 


138  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

CHAPTER  XIX.       . 

MORGAN    MEETS    HIS    LADY    AGAIN. 

But  -Captain  Dulaney  did  not  die  of  the  "lung 
fever,"  as  so  many  did.  He  was  made  for  a  nobler  end 
and  had  work  yet  to  do. 

The  mutterings  of  war  came  ever  nearer  and  nearer 
to  Lake  Champlain  and  crowded  out  all  other  thoughts 
and  interests. 

Morgan  waited  two  weeks  for  a  sight  of  his  Lady. 
Nobody  came  to  tell  him  the  news,  so  he  could  only  hope 
the  Captain  would  recover  and  need  to  go  for  an  airing 
after  a  while. 

One  day  the  orderly,  a  mannerly  youth  whom  horses 
liked,  groomed  him  so  carefully  that  the  old  horse 
guessed  the  airing  he  had  looked  forward  to  was  about 
to  take  place. 

He  was  scarcely  able  to  control  his  impatience  as  he 
stood  at  the  step  waiting.  He  was  sure  she  would  see 
him  this  time,  and  he  trembled  with  longing,  and  the 
hope  that  she  had  not  forgotten  him. 

She  came  down  the  steps  slowly,  the  Captain,  a  little 
weak  still,  leaning  on  her  arm,  yet  not  entirely  for  sup- 
port— a  little  for  the  joy  of  laying  his  thin,  white  hand 
on  her  strong,  steady  one. 

At  last,  as  her  husband  spoke,  she  raised  her  eyes. 

"This  is  the  horse  I've  written  you  so  much  about, 
my  Hollyhock !" 

She  knew  him  at  once ! 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  139 

"Why,  my  dear !  'Tis  the  very  horse  that  won  you 
for  me  !"  she  cried,  joyfully;  she  might  forget  a  person — 
his  lady — but  never  a  horse.  "Why  did  you  not  tell  me 
so  before?  I  have  asked  so  often  about  him,  and 
'twould  have  brought  me  to  Vermont  before  this  !'^ 

The  Captain  smiled. 

'T  shall  be  jealous  of  my  charger/'  he  said,  tenderly. 

Morgan  rubbed  his  muzzle  on  Mistress  Dulaney's 
sleeve  and  in  the  laces  at  her  neck,  thinking  her  soft 
Southern  voice  the  sweetest  he  had  ever  heard,  even 
more  sweet  than  when  she  was  a  maid. 

'*Ah,  dear  husband,  but  for  this  horse  I  should  be  the 
most  unhappy  of  women  instead  of  the  happiest !  'Twas 
he  who  won  that  race  so  many  years  ago  and  gave  you 
to  me.     I  have  ever  wanted  to  call  him  my  own !" 

'Then  you  may  call  him  so  now,  sweet  Wife.  From 
to-day  Morgan  is  yours." 

At  last,  at  last !  Oh,  the  years  of  waiting  and  long- 
ing. Oh,  the  weary  hopelessness  of  some  of  them  at  the 
plow — among  men  who  could  not  understand  and  did 
not  try.  At  last !  He  arched  his  crest  and  pawed  the 
earth  with  joy. 

'T  shall  lend  him  to  you  sometimes."  She  looked  at 
her  lord,  archly  lifting  her  sweet  face  to  his  as  they 
stood  very  close  together.  At  a  soft,  sweet  sound  Mor- 
gan showed  more  spirit. 

"  'He  paweth  in  the  valley  and  rejoiceth  in  his 
strength ;  he  goeth  forth  to  meet  the  armed  men,'  " 
Mistress  Dulaney  quoted,  mockingly,  her  hand  resting 
on  the  horse's  face,  her  cheek  against  his. 

Presently  the  Captain  mounted,  lighter  by  several 
pounds  than  was  his  wont,  and  Morgan  glided  off. 

''Take  good  care  of  him,  Little  Horse,"  were  her  part- 
ing words. 


I40  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Early  that  summer,  when  the  feehng  of  victory  was 
running  high,  the  American  Sloop  of  War,  ''Growler," 
was  captured  by  the  British  gun-boats  on  the  Upper 
Lake.  The  Americans  equipped  a  small  fleet  and  drove 
the  enemy  back  into  Canada. 

The  State  Militia,  stationed  at  Plattsburg,  was  ordered 
home  in  November,  by  Governor  Chittenden,  but  most 
of  the  officers  remained.  The  privates — from  the  first, 
unwilling  to  enlist — were  glad  enough  to  return  to  their 
families  who  needed  them  sorely.  They  would  much 
rather  chop  and  dig  at  home,  they  said,  having  found 
nothing  to  do  in  Plattsburg  but  repair  the  barracks. 

Every  day  Captain  or  Mistress  Dulaney  rode  Morgan 
out  for  exercise,  and  he  enjoyed  the  easy,  pleasant  life 
with  its  military  atmosphere.  His  lady  visited  him 
every  morning  early  and  gave  him  many  delicious  mor- 
sels of  food,  and  the  old  horse  seemed  to  grow  younger 
day  by  day.  She  talked  to  him  of  all  sorts  of  interesting 
things  in  tones,  so  wonderfully  sweet,  the  birds  in  the 
Green  Mountains  would  have  died  of  envy,  could  they 
have  heard  them. 

Sometimes  errands  with  Captain  Dulaney  were  of 
great  secrecy  and  importance.  One  night  quite  late  they 
went  away  toward  the  North  and  passed  the  night  at  a 
barn,  watching  a  suspicious  locality.  As  they  were 
about  to  start  homeward,  the  Captain  searched  carefully 
and  found  a  furled  flag,  lying  on  a  beam.  He  took  it 
down  and  unrolled  it,  looking  for  secret  signs,  but  the 
flag  was  right  enough.  It  was  made  of  the  finest  linen, 
home-spun,  and  was  fifteen  feet  long  by  four  wide.  In 
its  centre  was  an  eagle  perched  on  a  rock,  bearing  in  its 
talons  a  shield  with  thirteen  stripes  and  some  arrows. 
In  his  beak  was  a  pine  sprig,  and  over  the  eagle  was 
painted  "Independence  Forever."  The  word  "Swan- 
ton"  was  painted  on  it  in  another  hand. 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  141 

As  Captain  Dulaney  noticed  the  last  word  he  said  to 
himself,  with  relief : 

"  'Tis  well !  We've  nothing  to  fear.  Lieutenant  Van 
Sicklen  was  right.  The  people  in  this  locality  are  pa- 
triots. He  will  return  this  way,  perhaps,  so  I  shall  put 
the  flag  back  with  my  private  mark.""^ 

He  made  a  certain  distinguishing  mark  and  laid  the 
flag  back  on  the  sill. 

A  strange  event  occurred  on  their  way  home  through 
the  darkness. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  hissing,  as  of  red  hot  iron  thrust 
into  water,  a  familiar  sound  to  Morgan  who  had  lived 
fo  long  near  a  forge,  and  then  there  came  a  violent  ex- 
plosion. The  earth  fairly  shook,  and  the  horse  felt  his 
rider  start  in  the  saddle.  He  himself  was  so  taken  by 
surprise  that  he  stopped  so  sharply  his  hoofs  plowed 
great  furrows  in  the  ground. 

Then  Captain  Dulaney  spoke,  and  the  sound  of  his 
steady  voice  quieted  him. 

'*  Tis  but  a  mass  of  iron  fallen  from  space,  old  fel- 
low— a  meteor,  they  call  it — a  rare  and  interesting  sight 
if  one  happens  to  be  far  enough  away !  Any  nearer  for 
us  might  have  made  Mistress  Dulaney  a  widow  without 
a  riding  horse !"  He  laughed  reassuringly.  "We  will 
show  the  British  a  few  stars  like  that  at  shorter  range, 
pretty  soon.     What  say  you?" 

Morgan  waved  his  tail. 

*  In  December,  1907,  a  furled  flag,  covered  widi  dust  and  dirt, 
and  exactly  answering  the  description  of  the  flag  examined  by 
Captain  Dulaney,  was  discovered  on  the  sill  of  an  old  barn  on 
what  is  now  known  as  the  Jed  Mack  Farm,  at  S wanton  Junction, 
Vermont.  The  flag  was  old — everr  in  1814 — for  there  were  but 
thirteen  stripes  on  it,  and  had  been  made  before  Vermont  was 
admitted  to  the  Union. 

The  finding  of  the  flag  nearly  a  century  later  proves  that 
Lieut.  Van  Sicklen  did  not  return  that  way  and  accounts  for 
the  discovery  of  the  flag  so  long  afterwards. 


142  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Next  day  folk  went  from  everywhere  to  see  the 
"fallen  star,"  and  wise  old  women — who  infested  every 
community  at  that  time — said  it  was  an  ill-omen,  and 
meant  victory  for  the  British ! 

In  the  spring  of  1814,  the  American  Squadron  lay  in 
Otter  Creek,  which,  flowing  gently  toward  the  lake,  af- 
forded safe  anchorage  for  the  vessels.  In  May  as  they 
were  about  to  quit  port,  the  enemy  approached  off  the 
mouth  of  the  creek  with  a  well-matured  plan  to  "bottle 
them  up"  by  sinking  two  sloops  filled  with  stones  in  the 
channel.  But  the  Americans  fired  and  frightened  them 
off  before  they  had  played  their  clever  trick. 

In  the  middle  of  August  the  "Eagle"  was  launched 
and  the  murmur  arose,  "the  British  are  gathering  on  the 
frontier," 

On  September  third  began  the  real  excitement.  Be- 
fore cock-crow  the  whole  place  was  astir.  Morgan, 
feeling  the  influence,  was  scarcely  able  to  eat  his  break- 
fast. But  when  he  finally  finished,  and  was  led  out,  the 
barracks  were  alive  with  soldiers  and  officers.  Morgan 
champed  his  bit — ready  to  be  gone  on  any  errand  that 
was  needed.  Seconds  passed  slowly,  he  was  so  eager  to 
be  off!  In  a  few  moments  Lieutenant  Van  Sicklen 
sprang  out  of  a  near-by  door,  and  gathering  the  reins  in 
his  hands  swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 

The  old  horse  was  off  like  a  shot  toward  the  goal, 
wherever  it  was,  his  rider  close  to  his  neck,  talking  to 
him  as  a  lady-love  might,  whispering  words  of  encour- 
agement and  affection. 

They  dashed  down  the  hill  at  such  speed  that  an  old 
cow,  lying  comfortably  in  the  road,  chewing  her  morn- 
ing cud,  had  the  experience  of  acting  as  a  hurdle.  See- 
ing she  could  not  possibly  rise  in  time,  the  young  officer 
gave  Morgan  the  signal  and  over  her  they  went !    When 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  i43 

she  had  recovered  her  stupid  senses  they  were  out  of 

At  last  the  hopes  of  the  old  horse  were  realized  He 
was  serving  his  country  and  very  soon  understood  the 
errand  on  which  they  were  bent.  He  spurned  the  earth ; 
stone  fences  stretched  across  his  way;  streams  had  to  be 
forded;  now  and  then  a  steep 'declivity  appeared,  but  he 
was  a  "Bay,"  and  he  remembered  what  they  say  of  a 
bay  in  the  Desert;  rough  fields,  retarding  forests,  and 
wide  stretches  of  valley  did  not  discourage  him.  Hurr>'- 
ing  on  he  found  naught  but  broad,  fine  happmess.     He 

was  serving  his  country !  ,,.      ^  it  ;^,.f 

White    with    foam  he  reached    Hmesburg  and  Ueut. 

Van  Sicklen  shouted: 

'The  British  are  coming!" 

Then  over  his  shoulder: 

-They  have  invaded  Plattsburg  and  volunteers  are 
wanted  !     On  to  Burlington  !" 

Every  mouth  took  up  the  cry.  ^ 

''On  to  Burlington,  the  British  are  coming!  ^ 

Morgan's  nostrils  showed  red— but  he  was  just  begin- 
ning this  wonderful  experience,  for  which  he  had  waited 
so  long.     On,  on,  to  serve  his  country! 

They  left  the  people  hurrying  into  their  houses  for 
their  muskets.  Men  snatched  them  from  the  high  man- 
tel-shelves and  started  out  leaving  their  plows  stuck  m 
the  earth  The  women  did  not  weep— they,  too,  set  out 
some  doggedly,  some  eager;  they  begged  extra  guns  and 
went  along  leaving  their  kitchen  doors  open  and  their 
pots  hanging  from  the  cranes;  they  had  not  forgotten 
the  Indians-and  that  other  cry:  'The  British  are  com- 

^"^  These  were  living  memories  to  many.  Even  the  chil- 
dren pleaded  to  go  along,  for  was  not  the  American 
spirit  born  in  them? 


144  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

And  on  Morgan  and  his  rider  went. 

"The  British  are  coming!" 

The  cry  rose  and  fell  and  echoed  through  the  moun- 
tains and  valleys  of  Vermont. 

At  last  they  reached  Montpelier  where  they  were  to 
rest  the  night  at  the  Farmer's  Inn,  where  Morgan  used 
to  live.  But  he  was  so  tired  he  could  not  revive  memo- 
ries of  his  youth,  and  lay  down  on  the  clean  straw  to 
rest,  almost  at  once. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  he  had  been  sleeping  when 
his  keen  ears  were  penetrated  by  the  whisper  of  men 
outside  the  stable  door.  He  sprang  to  his  four  feet,  sus- 
piciously. 

"  'Tis  the  fleetest  horse  in  the  state,"  said  one  voice. 
"Have  him  out  and  you  will  signal  General  Prevost 
from  the  Upper  Lake  to-morrow  night!" 

"Prevost!  a  Red-Coat  General!"  thought  Morgan. 
"They  must  be  spies !" 

The  door  was  opened  softly  a  moment  later,  and  a 
man  crept  in. 

On  the  instant  a  rush  of  air  from  without  swept  into 
Morgan's  nostrils  the  unforgotten  odor  of  the  Tory  Boy 
whose  dog  had  killed  Black  Baby,  the  lamb.  No  longer 
a  boy,  he  no  doubt  deserved  the  kick  in  accordance  with 
his  increased  age  and  wickedness. 

Here  surely  was  the  opportunity  Allah  had  been  pre- 
paring all  these  years. 

Morgan  had  been  standing  with  his  face  to  the  door, 
but,  on  recognizing  the  intruder,  he  wheeled  suddenly, 
and  with  a  cry,  almost  human,  he  delivered  the  kick  of 
a  lifetime ! 

Lieutenant  Van  Sicklen,  sleeping  near  at  hand  and 
ever  on  the  alert,  had  been  roused  by  Morgan's  first 
movement    and    rushed   out     with     drawn    sword,     Hq 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  145 

reached  the  open  door  just  in  time  to  receive  in  his 
arms  the  Hmp  form  of  the  Tory  spy. 

The  American  officer  was  not  too  surprised  to  grasp 
him  by  the  collar: 

"How,  now,  sirrah !  You  would  steal  my  horse,  w^ould 
you?  We  will  soon  quiet  you  and  your  kind!"  Still 
holding  him  firmly — though  the  man  was  unconscious 
and  unable  to  stand — he  called,  ''What,  ho !  Within !  I 
have  no  time  to  deal  with  spies  or  horse  thieves !  Come 
out  and  punish  this  fellow,  if  he  is  alive,  according  to 
your  Vermont  laws  before  you  go  to  fight  his  peers !" 

Nor  did  he  and  Morgan  remain  to  see  the  fate  of  the 
Tory  spy.  It  sufficed  them  to  know  he  was  to  be  dealt 
with  according  to  his  deserts. 


146  JUSTIN    MORGAN 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    NAVAL    BATTLE. 

From  Montpelier  other  messengers  were  sent  in  all 
directions  to  warn  the  farmers,  and  Lieut.  Van  Sicklen 
pushed  on  to  Randolph,  Morgan's  old  home.  His 
former  friends  along  the  way  would  never  have  believed 
it,  had  they  not  known  his  age.  Full  twenty-five  years 
old,  he  was  yet  eager,  and,  hard  as  the  riding  had  been, 
not  once  had  he  faltered. 

Whilst  he  waited  in  Randolph,  Lieut.  Van  Sicklen, 
amidst  roars  of  applause,  roused  the  people  to  rally 
round  the  flag,  and  made  such  a  patriotic  speech  from 
the  porch  of  Dr.  Timothy  Baylies'  Tavern,  that  the  as- 
sembled crowd  was  carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm  and 
shouted,  wildly : 

"Down  with  the  British  !" 

It  was  a  fire  of  patriotism  burning  high  and  clear, 
lighting  the  state  from  North  to  South. 

Presently,  on  foot,  on  horseback,  in  wagons  and  in 
"shays,"  they  swept  out  into  the  winding  highways  and 
headed  toward  Montpelier,  where  the  Government  arms 
were  stored,  with  a  great  cracking  of  whips  and  cheer- 

Eighty-five  volunteers  went  from  Randolph,  with  Cap- 
tain Egerton  Lebbins  in  command.  In  a  fine  fever  of 
enthusiasm  they  were  as  splendid  a  set  of  men  as  Mor- 
gan had  come  across  in  his  journey,  showing  much  hero- 
ism and  ardor,  but  their  clothes  were  odd  to  see,  good- 
ness knows  !     One  thing  and  another  thrown  on  at  ran- 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  147 

dom  ;  but  not  once  did  it  occur  to  any  of  them  to  doubt 
the  propriety  of  the  strange  costumes. 

Fortunate  ones  had  entire  buff  and  blue  Continental 
uniforms,  inherited  from  father  or  g'randfather  or  once 
worn  by  themselves — which  was  a  proud  boast — some 
were  stained  darkly,  telling  the  tale  of  another  war. 
Others  had  brass  buttons  hastily  sewn  on  their  every- 
day coats.  Still  others  had  but  one  button — a  sort  of 
badge — but  these  were  great  treasures,  for  did  they  not 
bear  the  inscription,  "Lang  live  our  President,"  and  did 
thev  not  have  his  initials^G.  W. — on  them? 

Their  arms,  when  they  started  out,  were  as  varied  as 
their  coats.  Hunting  knives,  long  muskets,  spears  made 
at  the  forge,  of  scraps  of  iron  tied  to  oak  stafifs  with  raw 
hide,  Indian  arrow  heads  stuck  into  short  hickory  han- 
dles, and  such  like. 

But  after  all,  the  w^onder  was  that  they  could  get  to- 
gether any  sort  of  suggestive  garb,  or  cared  to — New 
England  being  in  such  a  fever  of  dissatisfaction  over  the 
w^ar. 

Their  mission  completed,  Lieut.  Van  Sicklen  and  Mor- 
gan returned  to  Burlington,  and  the.  day  following  this, 
Captain  Dulaney  rode  his  horse  clown  to  the  wharf  and, 
with  many  other  officers,  boarded  the  boat  for  Platts- 
burg. 

The  leaky  old  sloop,  used  to  convey  Captain  Lebbins' 
"heroes"  across,  was  washed  up  on  Juniper  Island  in  a 
storm  of  rain,  and  great  was  the  anxiety  concerning  the 
brave  fellows.  A  life  boat  was  hurriedly  manned  and 
sent  to  their  rescue — instead  of  finding  the  soldiers  per- 
ishing properly,  in  true  shipwreck  fashion,  the  life-sav- 
ing party  found  them  celebrating  their  patriotism  with 
IMedford  rum,  high  and  dry  on  the  island !  "The  wreck 
of  Juniper  Island"  was  the  subject  of  many  a  song  and 
story  for  long  years  in  Randolph. 


148  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

Commodore  Macdonough's  fleet  was  anchored  off 
Plattsburg  with  fourteen  vessels  and  eighty-six  guns. 
On  shore  could  be  heard  from  the  deck  of  his  flagship, 
''Saratoga,"  the  Commodore  giving  orders,  in  that  cool, 
calm  voice — so  loved  by  Decatur  and  Bainbridge — the 
voice  that  indicated  at  once  courage,  humanity  and  con- 
fidence. Nor  were  these  qualities  at  all  disturbed  by  the 
rumor  that  a  ''host  was  advancing  down  the  lake  to 
crush  the  Yankees !" 

The  "host"  was  Captain  George  Downie,  on  his  flag- 
ship, "Confiance,"  with  a  flotilla  of  sixteen  vessels  carry- 
ing ninety-two  guns. 

It  was  now  the  eve  of  a  great  naval  engagement — the 
tenth  of  September,  eighteen  hundred  and  fourteen — the 
story  of  which  has  been  told  over  and  over  for  genera- 
tions. 

Near  Captain  Dulaney's  headquarters,  Morgan  slept 
little  that  night ;  across  the  lake  Burlington  throbbed 
with  flaring  lights,  and  the  town  about  him  was  wide 
awake.  He  dreamed  waking  dreams  of  his  ancestor, 
the  Turk,  ridden  by  Captain  Byerly,  in  King  William's 
wars,  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  before — the 
Byerly  Turk,  he  was  called — who  had  seen  the  glories 
of  Londonderry  and  Enniskillan. 

Of  another  ancestor,  too,  he  dreamed,  the  White 
Turk,  ridden  by  Oliver  Cromwell ;  and  now  he,  Mor- 
gan, was  taking  part  in  a  war  under  the  saddle  of  his 
Lady's  soldier — for  this  reason  an  even  greater  person- 
age than  Captain   Byerly  or  Oliver  Cromwell ! 

Long  before  dawn  on  the  eleventh,  his  owner  rode 
him  out  to  watch  the  maneuvers  on  the  lake  from  an 
eminence,  for  it  now  seemed  that  Morgan  was  not  to 
take  an  active  part  in  this  battle. 

Commodore  Macdonough  had  drawn  his  fleet  up  in 
two  lines,  forty  yards  apart,  and  as  daylight  came,  and 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  149 

the  morning  advanced,  the  force  weighed  anchor  and 
moved  forward  in  a  body.  The  wind  was  fair  and  at 
eight  bells  all  was  ready  for  the  approaching  enemy — 
not  more  than  a  league  away. 

As  the  British  ships  came  nearer  the  Americans  swung 
their  broadsides  to  bear — an  intense  stillness  fell  whose 
influence  extended  to  the  watchers  on  land. 

The  "Saratoga"  was  silent — waiting — every  man  at 
his  post,  every  nerve  at  the  highest  tension — some  in 
fear,  some  in  restraint,  some  in  suspense — but  every  ear 
astrain  against  the  rending  of  that  awful  silence. 

And  suddenly  it  was  rent! 

A  cock,  escaped  from  a  coop,  having  mounted  a  gun- 
sHde,  on  the  "Saratoga,"  stretched  his  neck,  flapped  his 
wings,  and  crowed ! 

His  defiance  of  the  British  was  answered  with  a  rous- 
ing cheer^ — the  strain  was  broken — the  depressed  re- 
vived ! 

It  was  an  omen  presaging  Victory,  the  Americans 
said. 

Commodore  Macdonough,  himself,  fired  the  first  gun 
from  the  flagship.  Death  shrieked  through  the  air,  ugly 
and  resistless ;  the  ball  fairly  mowed  down  the  men  as  it 
whizzed  the  entire  deck-length  of  the  "Confiance." 

The  men  on  the  Saratoga  shivered  as  the  smoke  lifted 
and  they  saw  the  devastation  and  the  gallant  enemy 
advance,  without  reply.  Then  at  the  distance  of  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  Captain  Downie  anchored  and  the  other 
British  vessels  came  to. 

The  Americans  continued  to  pound  away — still  the 
"Confiance"  did  not  respond  until  secured.  Then,  with 
startling  suddenness  she  seemed  to  point  all  her  guns  at 
the  "Saratoga"  and  become  a  solid  sheet  of  flame.  The 
air  rocked  with  the  blazing  of  the  cannon. 


150  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

This  broadside,  from  point-blank  range,  carried  de- 
struction to  its  target.  It  came  terribly,  and  in  turn 
sang  its  death-song  to  the  Americans  through  the  morn- 
ing ail. 

When  the  eddying  smoke  cleared  it  seemed  to  Com- 
modore Macdonough  that  he  saw  half  his  crew  lying  on 
the  deck,  stunned,  wounded  or  killed  by  this  one  dis- 
charge— forty  was  the  actual  number,  out  of  his  two 
hundred  and  twelve  men.  Hammocks  were  cut  to 
pieces  in  the  netting  and  bodies  cumbered  the  deck.  But 
presently  the  "Saratoga"  recovered  and  resumed  her  ani- 
mated fire,  steady  as  ever. 

Fifteen  minutes  after  the  enemy  anchored  an  English 
vessel  was  captured,  and  on  Crab  Island  where  there 
was  a  hospital  and  a  battery  of  one  gun,  the  ''invalids" 
took  a  second. 

Sometimes  the  galleys  of  the  two  navies  would  lie 
within  a  boat's  hook  of  each  other  and  the  sailors,  not 
liking  such  close  quarters,  would  rise  from  the  sweeps, 
ready  to  spring  into  the  water.  It  was  close  and  hot — 
this  little  naval  battle — but  gradually,  as  the  guns  were 
injured,  the  cannonading  ceased. 

Morgan  and  Captain  Dulaney  galloped  from  place  to 
place  for  a  better  view,  the  old  horse  prancing  at  the  ter- 
rific sound  of  the  firing,  never  having  seemed  so  full  of 
spirit;  constantly  he  raised  his  head  to  sniff  the  smoke 
of  battle — as  if  it  were  a  call  from  his  kins-steeds.  The 
clatter  of  his  own  hoofs  beat  loud  in  his  ears ;  his  heart 
was  like  to  burst  with  patriotic  ardor  at  the  flying  flags, 
the  quick  orders  of  the  officers,  the  martial  noises,  and 
the  sense  of  peril.     He  was  mad  with  excitement. 

Suddenly  from  the  men  on  shore  burst  a  cheer,  loud 
and  high  in  exultation;  the  feeling  of  pride  ran  hot  in 
Morgan's  veins,  he  tasted   all   the   sweets  of  conquest, 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  151 

and  raising  his  head  high,  added  his  voice  to  theirs  in 
a  great  cry  of  triumph. 

And  this  was  Victory !  It  was  worth — that  one  mo- 
ment— his  whole  long  life  of  hard  work  and  painful  part- 
ings ! 


152  JUSTIN    MORGAN 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

DOWN    HILL. 

For  days  after  the  naval  battle  Morgan  seemed  reju- 
venated, ready  to  begin  life  all  over ;  life,  with  its 
changes  of  owners,  its  partings,  its  hard  work — but 
withal,  its  friendships,  its  moments  of  supreme  joy  and 
exaltation. 

It  might  be  well  to  end  the  story  of  old  Justin  Morgan 
as  he  stood  there — so  fine  in  his  spirit  and  ambition — 
watching  the  fight  from  the  hill  commanding  the  lake; 
but  one  or  two  more  incidents  remain  to  be  related  which 
will  show  still  greater  powers  of  endurance  and  pa- 
tience in  his  long,  hard,  but  nevertheless,  noble  life. 

On  the  heels  of  the  American  victory  came  the  news 
that  the  Dulaneys  had  been  ordered  back  to  West  Point, 
and  would  not  take  Morgan  with  them.  It  was  a  bitter 
parting  for  the  old  horse  and  need  not  be  dwelt  upon. 
All  three  realized  fully,  they  should  never  meet  again. 

Hi******* 

From  Burlington  Morgan  was  sold  to  Joel  Goss  and 
Joseph  Rogers,  and  taken  to  Claremont,  New  Hamp- 
shire. Here  his  stable  was  at  the  ferry,  on  the  Con- 
necticut River,  and  the  sight  of  the  stream  recalled  his 
youth. 

He  dreamed  sweet  dreams  of  colthood;  visions  of  his 
mother,  of  Caesar,  of  Black  Baby,  came  to  him  and  he 
was  content. 

But,  alas,  this  pleasant,  peaceful  life  ended  full  soon, 
and,  in  1816  he  was  sold  to  a  man  by  the  name  of  Lang- 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  153 

maid,  who  drove  the  freight-stage  from  Windsor  to 
Chelsea,  a  distance  of  nearly  two  hundred  miles.  Thus 
the  brave  old  animal,  at  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  was 
ignominiously  thrust  into  harness  company  with  five 
other  lazy,  ill-bred  brutes,  who  dawdled  along  the  road 
with  slack  tugs  and  made  the  patient  Morgan  do  most 
of  the  pulling. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  long  life  the  ambitious  horse 
admitted  a  feeling  of  discouragement  into  his  heart;  he 
was  ill-fed,  never  rubbed  down,  and  life  seemed  utterly 
hopeless.* 

That  was  the  year  men  called  ''Eighteen-hundred- 
and-starved-to-death,"  and  throughout  the  entire  sum- 
mer there  was  not  one  warm,  sunshiny  day. 

Growing  wet  with  their  intolerably  toilsome  exertions 
over  the  slippery,  tumbling  roads,  with  the  wind  howl- 
ing and  the  trees  bending  low  about  them,  the  horses 

*  Editor  American  Horse  Breeder : — I  am  an  old  man,  eighty- 
three,  this  month,  and  seeing  an  article  in  your  last  in  praise  of 
the  Morgan  Horse,  I  want  to  add  a  word  of  gratitude  for  their 
noble  service  done  me  as  a  stage-proprietor  on  the  Fourth  New 
Hampshire  Town-pike ;  as  livery  man  and  farmer.  .  .  .  For 
endurance,  intelligence  and  as  trappy  drivers,  the  Morgans  have 
no  equals.  To  handle  six  or  eight  horses  on  a  stage-coach  over 
hills — without  accident — looks  to  me  wonderful  now,  for  brakes 
were  not  known  in  those  days.  I  sometimes  think  it  could  not 
have  been  done  without  the  Morgan  horses,  for  their  superior  in- 
telligence was  often  displayed  in  cases  of  danger — like  running  on 
icy,  sidling  roads,  where  every  tug  was  needed,  and  the  horses 
on  the  run,  to  prevent  the  coach  from  falling  off  the  bank !  I 
have  often  done  this  and  seen  others  do  it,  and  accidents  were 
few.  These  horses  seemed  to  know  what  was  wanted  and  under- 
stood the  danger  as  well  as  the  driver.  It  was  sometimes  no  easy 
matter  to  carry  the  mails  through  blinding  sleet  and  heavy  drifts, 
but  I  never  had  a  Morgan  horse  look  back  to  refuse  me.  They 
always  faced  the  blast.  If  a  "double  trip  had  to  be  made  the 
Morgans  always  did  it  and  the  long-jointed,  over- reaching,  in- 
terfering span  of  some  other  breed  was  kept  in  the  barn. 

Yours, 
J.  C.  Cremer,  Hanover,  N.  H. 
American  Horse  Breeder,  1892. 


154  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

would  become  chilled  to  the  bone,  with  often  nothing 
but  hemlock  boughs  to  eat.  They  panted  and  strained 
as  they  climbed,  and  the  lumbering  stage,  with  its 
heavy  load  of  freight,  had  to  be  hauled  over  the  tops  of 
the  almost  perpendicular  hills  and  mountains,  at  the 
crack  of  a  long,  keen  whip  in  the  hands  of  a  merciless 
driver;  every  moment  they  were  in  danger  of  crashing 
over  an  embankment.  It  took  steady  nerve  to  do  this, 
and  poor,  proud  Morgan,  who  had  never  before  felt  a 
whip,  chafed  under  the  treatment  and  the  remarks  of 
people  who  had  known  him  in  his  prime. 

He  almost  fretted  himself  to  death,  he  was  heartsick, 
and  a  leaden  weariness  of  battling  came  over  him;  he 
was  in  a  pitiable  plight. 

That  year  crops  were  all  killed,  famine  threatened, 
and  once  more  Vermont  drank  the  cup  of  desolation  to 
its  dregs.  Good  church  people,  with  their  children 
starving,  cursed  their  God. 

On  one  occasion  the  stage  passed  the  farm  of  a  man 
driven  to  desperation  by  the  conditions — no  crops — no 
food.  He  did  not  hear  the  stage  coming — the  horses' 
feet  fell  noiselessly  on  the  soundless  road,  knee-deep — 
the  heavy  wheels  half  hidden — in  mud.  There  he  stood, 
his  Bible  in  his  hand,  and  in  a  loud  voice  he  poured 
forth  a  torrent  of  threats  ''to  burn  the  Book  if  his  crops 
were  killed  by  the  threatening  frost." 

Mother  Nature  had  made  her  plans,  and  did  not 
change  them  for  such  impious  railings. 

When  the  stage  passed,  a  few  days  later,  neighbors' 
tongues  buzzed  with  Diah  Brewster's  blasphemy,  for  he 
had  kept  his  word ! 

No  one  could  suggest  a  punishment  to  fit  the  crime, 
although  there  were  stocks  and  branding  for  lesser  mis- 
demeanors, such  as  drunkenness  and  lying. 

Unfortunately,  the    stage    had  to  go  on  before    the 


FOUNDER    OF    HIS    RACE  155 

driver  found  out  what  decision  the  Selectmen  arrived  at 
as  to  proper  and  appropriate  penalty. 

Soon  after  this  Joseph  Rogers  chanced  to  be  in  Chel- 
sea when  the  stage  coach  drew  up.  Hearing  his  familiar 
voice,  Morgan — wretchedly  miserable  and  homesick — 
gave  a  friendly  and  anxious  whinney.  Rogers  would 
never  have  recognized  him  otherwise,  but  as  he  looked 
into  the  horse's  kind,  gentle  face  he  knew  it  was  his  old 
friend.  He  started  in  surprise  at  the  forlorn  appear- 
ance of  the  once  beautiful  horse,  now  friendless  and  for- 
gotten. 

That  evening  Morgan  was  bought  back  by  Joel  Goss 
and  Joseph  Rogers,  who  took  him  again  to  Claremont, 
where  he  soon  regained  strength  and  flesh.  His  coat 
took  on  such  a  gloss  that  after  a  while  they  began  to 
"spruce"  him  up  for  the  Randolph  Fair.  And  at  twenty- 
eight  years  of  age ! 

The  fair  proved  to  be  a  very  fine  one  and  there  were 
bread-stuffs,  pies  and  quilts  of  every  description,  linen 
and  woolen  woven  by  the  women,  and  the  men  exhib- 
ited their  fine  horses,  cows  and  pigs. 

Morgan's  stable  was  as  popular  as  ever  and  pretty 
soon  the  judges  gave  him  a  blue  ribband,  though  there 
were  many  younger  horses  in  his  class  who  arched  their 
necks  and  attracted  attention. 

The  chief  topic  of  conversation  at  the  fair  was  the 
approaching  visit  of  President  James  Monroe,  who  was 
coming  to  view  the  scene  of  the  great  naval  battle  at 
Burlington.     Morgan  heard  the  talk  outside  his  stall. 

"They  tell  me  the  Morgan  goes  up  to  Burhngton  for 
the  President  to  ride  in  the  big  parade,"  said  a  stable 
boy. 

''Yes,"  some  one  replied,  "Joel  Goss  wants  to  sell  the 
horse  and  thinks  with  the  reputation  of  having  been  rid- 
den by  a  President  he'll  get  a  better  price !" 


156  JUSTIN    MORGAN 

"That  sounds  reasonable — if  Morgan  was  younger." 
"Younger?     Why,  man,  this  horse'U  never  grow  old! 
Wait  and  take  a  look  at  him." 

The  "old"  horse  was  led  out,  bold  and  ambitious,  his 
eyes  bright,  his  ears  pointing,  his  spirit  fresh  as  ever ! 
He  stepped  smartly  about,  supple  and  sound  as  a  horse 
of  ten,  at  the  most.  It  is  the  spirit  that  makes  the  horse 
and  there  was  a  springiness  of  youth  in  his  gait.  Well 
had  he  known — this  wise  animal — that  every  trait  and 
characteristic  he  developed  in  himself  would  be  his  gift 
to  posterity !  His  feeling  of  responsibility  to  future 
generations  was  great.* 

A  week  later  the  Morgan  was  led  to  the  Tavern  en- 
trance in  Burlington.  He  stepped  nobly,  and  understood 
all  the  paces  and  evolutions  of  a  showy  parade-horse. 

At  the  door  of  the  Tavern  appeared  a  man,  noticeable 
for  that  dignified  and  courtly  bearing  that  marked  the 
Colonial  gentleman.  He  was  attired  in  a  costume  of 
the  latest  cut — somewhat  new  to  the  Vermonters. 

He  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  to  the  right  and  left  as 
cheer  after  cheer  rose  from  the  people  who  recognized 
their  President. 

Accompanied  by  General  Joseph  G.  Swift,  he  started 
down  the  steps. 

Suddenly  over  the  face  of  President  James  Monroe 
there  passed  a  look  of  keen  interest,  followed  by  one  of 
intense  admiration. 

He  had  caught  sight  of  Morgan,  and  his  eye,  unerring 
in  its  judgment  of  horseflesh,  was  arrested  at  once  by 

*  "I  see  horses  every  day  with,  perhaps,  a  thirty-second  part  of 
the  blood  of  Old  Justin  Morgan,  but  there  it  is,  still  predominat- 
ing; there  is  the  Morgan  still  to  be  seen  plainly.  Every  close 
observer,  every  discerning  judge  of  horses  always  admits  this 
tendency  of  his  blood." — From  an  article  by  James  D.  Ladd,  Wal- 
lace's Monthly,  July,  1882. 


FOUNDER    OF   HIS    RACE  157 

his  vigorous  and  fearless  style.  He  turned  to  a  group 
of  officials. 

''I  see,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  genuine  ap- 
preciation, ''that  Vermont  can  produce  a  horse  worthy  of 
her  heroes !" 

A  moment  later  and  he  had  thrown  his  leg  over  the 
back  of  the  proudest  horse  in  America! 


THE   END. 

Morgan  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  the  kind 
care  of  Mr.  Bean,  of  Chelsea.  He  died  from  the  effects 
of  a  kick  from  another  horse,  in  1821,  at  the  advanced 
agfe  of  thirty-two  years. 


POSTWORD. 

The  stable  of  the  late  George  Houstoiin  Waring,  of 
Savannah,  at  Annandale  Stock  Farm,  where  the  first 
Georgia  Morgans  were  raised,  consisted  of  four  Morgans 
brought  from  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire.  They  were. 
Enterprise,  No.  423,  chestnut  with  flaxen  mane  and  tail ; 
Paragon  Black  Hawk,  the  handsomest  horse  I  ever 
saw,  black  with  white  star,  very  showy  in  tandem  ;  Clive, 
beyond  compare  in  Morgan  perfection,  for  whom,  at  four 
years  of  age  Mr.  Waring  refused  $4,000;  Bay  Comet, 
perfect  in  form  and  disposition,  dark  with  black  points. 
There  were  fifty  mares,  nearly  all  INIorgans.  The  finest 
of  these  was  Rosalie  Morgan,  from  A^rmont.  She  was 
exhibited  many  years  at  the  Georgia  State  Fairs,  and  at 
each  would  take  the  prizes  for  the  best  brood  mare,  best 
mare  with  colt  at  her  side,  and  best  trotting  mare.  When 
she  appeared  in  these  three  classes  no  other  mare  stood 
any  chance.  Finally  she  was  ruled  out.  She  had  nine- 
teen colts,  two  of  which  I  know  sold  for  $600  each. 
Rosalie  died  at  thirty-two  years  of  age. 

I  bought  from  Mr.  Waring  a  Bay  Comet  colt,  daugh- 
ter of  Amanda  Morgan,  and  named  her  Jeannie  Dean. 
Jeannie  was  like  a  member  of  my  family  for  thirty-one 
years.     She  was  the  perfect  type  in  character  and  form. 

Frank,  a  grandson  of  Enterprise,  one  of  the  later 
and  best  known  Morgans  was  owned  and  trotted  by 
William  Henry  Stiles,  in  2:iS]4  ;  l"ie  inherited  all  the  fine 
traits  of  "Old  Justin  Morgan." 

Annandale  had  a  half-mile  track,  and  every  equip- 
ment for  the  care  and  comfort  of  this  transplanted  race. 

159 


i6o  POSTWORD 

The  farm  was  situated  in  Habersham  Co.,  in  a  luxuriant 
rolling  valley  of  the  beautiful  mountainous  section  of 
Northeast  Georgia ;  a  section  almost  exclusively  occupied 
by  the  summer  estates  of  the  wealthy  rice  and  cotton 
planters  of  the  Low  Country. 

J.  W.  Bryan. 
Dillon,  Georgia,  September,  191 1. 


Webster  Family  Library  of  Veterinary  Medicine 
Cummings  School  of  Veterinary  Medicine  at 


Tufts  University 
200  Westboro  Road 
North  Grafton,  MA  01 536 


